Ronin Read online

  RONIN

  RONIN

  By Jan Domagala

  Ronin

  Copyright 2010 by Jan Domagala.

  The moral right of the author has been asserted

  Fourth Edition 2017

  Cover design copyright by

  This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, institution or organisation alive or dead is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  AUTHOR’S FOREWORD

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  FOREWORD

  PROLOGUE

  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

  28

  EPILOGUE

  AUTHOR’S FOREWORD

  Hi there, I’d just like to say a few words of thanks to you, the reader, for picking up this book and also a few words about what you are about to read.

  As an author I write to entertain, nothing more, nothing less. A good story well told, can transport readers out of their normal nine-to-five lives and into something truly wonderful. That hopefully, is what you have before you.

  That having been said, there’s nothing left to add except – sit back, relax and enjoy.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I would also like to thank all the people who have inspired me to write: Jack Higgins, Matthew Reilly, Robert Ludlum, James Rollins and many more too numerous to list. Thanks guys, hope I don’t let you down.

  No book is ever a success because of one person; it is a collaboration of talents. Here is the list of those who helped me make this book what it is now.

  This book wouldn’t be what it is now if not for the amazing talents of Vivian Head at Bookscribe.com for the editing and polishing. The cover artwork is down to the talents of Jessica Tahbonemah at Magic Quill Graphics, I couldn’t have done it without you, thanks to you all.

  Finally, for Matt who helped with ideas for this book. Sadly you’re no longer with us but you are never far from our thoughts.

  Miss you, dude; hope this turned out like you wanted.

  FOREWORD

  By the late twenty-first century, development in technology made it possible for starships to travel faster than the speed of light. With hyperdrive engines, starships could jump into hyperspace and exit light years from their point of entry.

  The government of Earth, or EarthGov, established a colonisation programme and suitable planets were sought out and inhabited. This was the first time Man had set foot on a planet outside of his own solar system.

  Some planets needed to be terraformed to make them habitable for humans to settle. This took decades, but as advancements in technology were made, the time it took to terraform a new world was reduced. Unfortunately, unrest at how the colonists were picked began to grow and a terrorist group called the Elysium Alliance tried to disrupt the programme. This Alliance gave hope to those who thought they would never have a second chance at life. Backed by many powerful and influential corporations who lost out on lucrative government contracts, the Alliance started building their own fleet and training personnel. Within a few short years they had manufactured enough starships fitted with hyperdrive engines to start out themselves and become a legitimate alternative to EarthGov.

  This, of course, created competition for the planets chosen for colonisation and the Alliance made bold moves to reach certain planets first.

  Conflict followed and inevitably – war. Many lives were lost over the next few decades until a cease-fire was reached. A decision had finally been made and reason prevailed. The Elysium Alliance had colonised almost as many planets as the Colonial Confederation, as EarthGov was now known, and an uneasy peace reigned. During the cold war, the two sides kept watch on each other. Now, it’s the mid-twenty-fifth century and the known galaxy still maintains an uneasy peace.

  PROLOGUE

  He stood on the Observation Lounge looking out at the vista of stars, waiting to die.

  Out of the four volunteers for the special experimental programme, only he and Kurt Stryder were left alive. The other two, Summerfield and Watson, had died in circumstances too horrible to contemplate. Was this his fate too, to die like them?

  He knew there were risks involved in the programme; a fact of any experimental programme, but seeing those risks, observing the consequences up close and personal made him doubt the validity of both the programme and his eagerness to enlist in it. It was too late to pull out now though, for the final round of tests had already been completed. At least he had got that far, more than could be said for Summerfield or Watson.

  Turning away from the large panoramic viewport he decided to return to his quarters. It was after midnight station time, which was synchronous with Earth Central Time. At this time of night only the night shift were working keeping this station, Research Station Five, operational. He walked towards his quarters, nothing more than a cubicle with a bed really, and he entered. He quickly disrobed placing his uniform in the wardrobe, the only other piece of furniture present in the Spartan quarters before climbing into the bed.

  He was more tired than he had first thought and sleep came to him quickly. However, after only a few hours sleep, he was woken abruptly by a searing pain that ripped through his abdomen like a wildfire. Still wrapped in the duvet that restricted his movements, he tumbled out of bed. Though he tried to stand, a wave of nausea engulfed him like a raging tide washing over the shore. He stumbled and steadied himself against the wardrobe to prevent him falling on the floor, then activated the locking pad on the door. As it opened on a cushion of compressed air he threw himself out into the corridor beyond.

  A series of hacking coughs wracked his body and when his sight returned he saw the wall he had leaned against for support was splattered with blood.

  This was not good. This was how the other two started before they died.

  Fear gripped him and he screamed for help before another coughing fit took control.

  Falling to the floor, his stomach heaved, the pain escalating to an excruciating level. As he lay on the floor he turned his head to see a pair of boots running towards him. He had never felt such pain and he was so weak he could hardly lift his head.

  Someone cradled his head and he looked up into a pair of worried eyes.

  He coughed once more spraying the shirt of the security guard holding him with blood before succumbing to the darkness that had been creeping into his peripheral vision.

  STILL ON HIS KNEES and cradling Captain Bell’s head Private Robert Whitehead accessed a comm. channel via his Neural Interface.

  When the call was connected he said, “Sir, Captain Bell has just died.”

  1

  Kurt Stryder was taking a shower when his Neural Interface tingled telling him a comm. channel had been accessed and a call was coming through to him.

  “Go ahead,” he said. The NI automatically connected him to various networks wherever he was on a starship, station or planet, whether by comm networks or the main computer on board. Effectively doing away with the need for external devices, the NI gave remote access to the same sources. Most Col Sec personnel were fitted with these NIs along with certain private citizens who could afford the cost of surgery, and the device.

  “Something’s happened to Bell,” General Sinclair said, his voice coming through as clear as if he stood next to him in the
room.

  “What, same as the others?” Stryder asked almost knowing the answer, which would make his own worst fear come true.

  “I’m afraid so, just like Summerfield and Watson.”

  “How long have I got?” Stryder asked, for he was part of the same project and now the only remaining test subject left alive.

  “There’s no guarantee that what happened to them will also happen to you. They assure me they’re doing everything in their power to get to the bottom of this,” Sinclair said.

  “Excuse me, sir, if I don’t feel reassured. What I don’t understand is, if we all had the procedure at the same time, why have the others died at different intervals?”

  “That’s something they’re looking into, I can assure you. I want you to come to the main lab right away. There are some tests they want you to perform and I want you under close surveillance at all times until we get to the bottom of this.”

  “Right, I’ll just finish my shower and be right there, sir.”

  “There’ll be an escort waiting at your door when you’re ready, Sinclair out.”

  Stryder continued with his shower now that the telltale tingle had left him as the connection was severed.

  All he could think of was when would he die? He’d seen the reports of the first two deaths and they were horrible. He’d seen his fair share of death during combat and had caused enough of his own to warrant his participation in this project. This was supposed to help bring about the end of the needless bloodshed, or, at the very least, help reduce it. He had thought that if the results of this project helped to save one life in the field, then whatever they had to endure would be worth it.

  Now he wasn’t so sure. It didn’t seem right to sacrifice three lives, possibly more, to save only one life. The balance was off and he had no idea how to redress it.

  Finishing his shower, he dried off and quickly got dressed in his uniform of white shirt and dark blue trousers. The Col Sec emblem was on the patch pocket on his shirt directly over his heart, and the three pips of his rank of captain were on the epaulets. He glanced in the mirror to ensure he was presentable, but what he saw disturbed him. His blond hair was cut to regulation length, not too short but trimmed neatly around ears that lay flat against the side of his head. High cheekbones gave evidence of his Nordic ancestry, as did his cobalt blue eyes. His normal, warm smile was missing now, replaced with a worried frown. Trying not to think about what could lie ahead, he went to the door.

  As the door opened he saw his escort, two Marines from Recon Delta. Delta was his old unit, the elite of Col Sec, which meant the General was taking this development seriously. The Marines promptly fell in behind him as he left his room.

  Arriving at the main lab, he was met by General Sinclair and Doctor Baxter, the two main men heading this project. General Sinclair was in overall command of Col Sec, along with Recon Delta and Intelligence Division. Doctor Baxter was in charge of the lab.

  “There you are, Captain,” Sinclair said as Stryder entered the lab flanked by his escort. Sinclair was in his fifties but still ramrod stiff from his years in Col Sec. His brown hair was receding from a high forehead leaving a widow’s peak. Below that his deep brown eyes were unfathomable, as was his normal, stoic expression. Thin lips rarely, if ever, spread into a smile. It was said in some circles that if Sinclair had ever indulged in playing poker, with his normal deadpan expression he could have been wealthy beyond his dreams.

  “Yes, sir, I see you’ve beefed up the security somewhat,” Stryder replied with a sardonic smile.

  “Yes, I thought it about time.”

  “Granted, but don’t you think it smacks of closing the stable door after the horse has bolted, just a little?”

  “Your opinion is thus noted Captain, but Baxter here doesn’t share your sense of doom. Tell him, Doctor.”

  Stryder turned to the doctor not daring to hope. He said, “Tell me what, Doc?”

  Baxter was smaller than the other men in the lab who were all professional soldiers standing between six feet one and six feet three inches tall, with lean, hard physiques that had been honed through years of hard training. Baxter, however, was five feet ten inches tall, with a thin, reedy body that had rarely seen exercise. His mind though was as sharp as any blade known to man.

  “Well, Captain, you know as well as any on this project that what we’ve witnessed has been unprecedented and, quite frankly, simply should not have happened...” he said, his slate grey eyes aglow with excitement. He ran his hand through his thinning, salt and pepper hair, and then pushed his spectacles up his aquiline nose, a habit of his when he was nervous or excited.

  “But it did happen, sir, three times now and it’s the same every time. What I need to know is, when is it going to be my turn and can you prevent it?” Stryder asked.

  “But that’s just it ... the same every time. All three died in exactly the same way,” said Baxter, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his white lab coat.

  “I understand that Doctor, but what’s your point?”

  “You know the basis of what we’re doing here, right? We’ve injected you all with a serum that alters you genetically; to enhance your immune system, to give you the ability to heal faster and to aggressively attack toxins.”

  “Yes, sir, I was briefed fully at the induction, we all were.”

  “And you agree that no two people’s DNA is exactly the same?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So why would the treatment affect three people in exactly the same manner, at different intervals, when it has been proven that there are no toxins present in the serum?”

  “I don’t know, Doctor, you tell me. You’re the expert. No wait ... you suspect foul play. How is that possible? I thought the facility was locked down tighter than an airlock in deep space.”

  “It is, but considering we are in deep space, that comment is redundant. Having said that, it’s the only explanation that fits the facts,” Baxter replied.

  “So what’re we going to do, sir?” Stryder asked, glancing at the General.

  “You are going to continue with the programme and leave the security of this facility to me,” Sinclair replied confidently.

  “Do you have a list of suspects, sir? I’d like to know so I can keep an eye out. Or am I to be the bait?” Stryder asked.

  “We’re looking into it Captain,” Sinclair said, giving nothing away as usual.

  Stryder watched as Baxter turned to the General and said, “Tell him.”

  “Tell me what, sir? What is it you’re keeping from me?” Stryder asked suspiciously.

  Sinclair stared at Baxter for a second, his eyes boring into him with repressed anger. Baxter was a civilian scientist working for Col Sec, but not directly under Sinclair’s command, otherwise his little outburst would not have happened. He looked away from the doctor then turned to face Stryder. There was a battle going on inside his head, Stryder could see that. When he came to a decision he said, “Okay, we suspect that Captain Howard may have something to do with all this.”

  “Howard? Isn’t he in charge of security here?”

  “Yes, and we have to handle this carefully. If he has ties to the Alliance, then we need to find out. We’ll have to keep him under close surveillance but without alerting him to the fact we’re on to him. If he is our man and he gets wind of our suspicions, there’s no telling what he might do.”

  “One thought has occurred to me, sir, why is he going to so much trouble, when this project clearly doesn’t work?” Stryder asked.

  “Excuse me?” Baxter replied indignantly, staring at the taller man as if he had insulted him.

  “Well, sir, if this serum is supposed to increase our immune system to make us more able to fight off toxins, how is he killing us off one by one? All the testing we’ve undergone so far has been to see if it affected us on a physical level. As far as I can see, our immune system has not been tested yet. Surely if a poison or toxin of some sort has been used, shouldn’t the ser
um have neutralised it?” Stryder explained with no trace of malice.

  Baxter’s expression softened a little. “That again, is something of a mystery. You were right to point out about the testing. We had to ensure that the serum had no debilitating effects on your abilities to perform as a soldier. In fact, in your case Captain, it had quite the opposite effect; it actually increased your strength and stamina. I’m sure you’re aware that your endurance levels have increased by twenty-five per cent.”

  Stryder expressed mild surprise and a little bewilderment.

  “To be honest, Doc, I thought you were taking it easy on me, well on us, actually. I never realised it was just me; we were never tested together. I just put it down to my training in Recon Delta being harder than what you put us through.” He paused then asked, “But why me?”

  Baxter had no answer for him other than a shake of his head and a bemused expression. When he spoke his voice displayed his frustration.

  “We’ve encountered so many variables that were, to be honest, unexpected. Each test subject has had a different reaction to the serum, however small. You, it seems Captain, are the only one to exhibit any positive reaction to the serum. It seems the serum did not affect the immune system of the first three. In fact, once the autopsy results are in on Bell, I’m sure it will confirm my earlier findings, that their immune system actually saw the serum as a threat and destroyed it.”

  “How is that possible sir, and what does it mean for me? Am I in danger from it?” Stryder asked a little concerned.

  “On the contrary, it seems to have increased your metabolism, now all we need to do is to get it to increase your immune system. We need to get it to attach itself onto your DNA to affect your immune system genetically; otherwise it could be perceived as a threat by your body’s defences and be destroyed by the very thing it seeks to improve.”