Craing Dominion (Scrapyard Ship Book 5) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  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

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Other Books

  Copyright

  Craing Dominion

  By

  Mark Wayne McGinnis

  Chapter 1

  The Marquess of Silionne, Zackary Rama, stood before the Jhardon ruler, King Caparri. In his early sixties, the king was tall and broad shouldered. Like all Jhardanians, he had their typical violet skin and long eyelashes. Tradition and ceremony played a significant role among the people of Jhardon and he still wore the same embroidered, long white robe his father had worn when he was king, some twenty-five years earlier.

  “Your Eminence, six planets are directly in the path of the approaching Craing.”

  “How many ships are there?”

  The Marquess’s expression turned to one of regret, or perhaps one of sadness. “Fifteen hundred in total, Your Eminence. But there’s a breakaway group of six massive, distinctly different, black warships approaching.”

  The king looked out through the curved, floor-to-ceiling observation window that encircled the upper crest of Broadspire Station. Built as a beacon to those entering Jhardon space, the massive space station was more than a military fortress. It was also an artistic symbol of an advanced and cultured society. Bright white, with fluid, arcing lines that converged into a rising spire above a broad, barrel-shaped inner construct, the structure had become one of the most recognizable symbols throughout the Alliance. The king’s gaze fell from the star-filled distant space above him to the glowing, emerald green planet below. Just looking down at her filled his heart with emotion. With the exception of his queen, Lonna, and his daughter, Dira … nothing in life was more precious than Jhardon.

  “What’s the status on getting Alliance support?” King Caparri asked; the irritation showing on his face was equally evident in his voice. The king knew the Alliance had more ships, more war power, than at any time in the past. But their forces were scattered, the majority stationed on Earth and her moon.

  “Without an Allied vessel in the vicinity to provide us an interchange wormhole, we’re relegated to standard, slow, interstellar communications. It will be too late for us to reach Admiral Reynolds and the Allied forces,” Marquess Rama said.

  “So that’s it? We simply stand by and watch as six fringe planets, including our own, are decimated?”

  Marquess Rama was about to answer when he realized the question was most likely rhetorical. Both stood in silence, staring out to space, for several long moments. The king contemplated the fate of over a billion people. Perhaps some could be rescued—evacuated off the planet.

  The king turned to Rama and said: “Evacuate as many as you can without creating mass hysteria. Ensure that Parliament, and the House of Jhardon members, are moved away from this sector of space. Ready Broadspire Station for battle. Relay to all on board that the survival of their world below hinges on their brave actions here today.”

  Jhardon was a peace-loving world. Weapons of any kind were forbidden and only here, miles above the surface, was there a small military contingent. The king wanted to stay—to fight and direct the battle himself. But there were clear-cut directives that made that action impossible. His place would be leading his people, as few or as many who’d survive, after today.

  Both, suddenly startled, looked toward the stars. A distant planet, normally no larger looking than a tiny yellow moon, exploded outward in a resounding ball of fire. The heavens flashed white momentarily and, just as quickly, there was nothing left of it in space.

  “Oh my God. Beautiful Lapoine … She’s gone.” Both stared upward for an indeterminate length of time before the king said, “Have the queen meet me on the royal clipper.”

  * * *

  Commodore Ot-Mul showed no emotion as the small yellow planet, and those that inhabited her, ceased to exist. He inhaled as the heavens momentarily flashed white—as if, in that brief microsecond, he could fill his lungs, his total being, and consume the life force of those he had vanquished. The briefest smile crossed his lips—then just as quickly was gone.

  Slowly, Ot-Mul looked to his left and then right. With the exception of one officer, this bridge crew was the finest he had served with in over ten years commanding the Craing Empire’s elite Vanguard fleet. His six black dreadnaught warships were feared across all Craing space. There were only a few details Ot-Mul delegated to others when it came to enlisting potential crewmen. Each and every crewmember was intensely vetted—academic excellence most certainly was necessary … but it was the purity of an applicant’s bloodline that was truly the key requisite; the familial Craing heritage of each candidate was paramount. Perhaps that was why the Vanguard’s Craing personnel looked so different from Craing crews on board other vessels—destroyers, light and heavy cruisers, and dreadnaughts. Consequently, the Vanguard’s crew had come to represent the physical ideal: fearsome, taller than the typical three-foot-tall Craing, they were four or more feet tall, had small tufts of black hair on top of their heads, and rutty, pitted, complexions. These features alone distinguished the elite Vanguard fleet personnel.

  The commodore brought his attention to the next planet. His orders were simple: spend no more than one day in Allied space—the six targeted planets, for the most part, were undefended and would easily be removed from the Allied territories; then, move with haste and rendezvous with the rest of the Craing fleet on the outer end of the Orion arm.

  Ot-Mul ground his teeth, irritated by the acting emperor’s orders. It made no sense. Why not move toward the rest of the Allied planets immediately? Reconnaissance reports showed little fleet activity in recent days—a perfect time to strike. He approached the center of the bridge and a pool table-sized horizontal display. Three bridge crew officers moved to either side while he leaned his forearms on the padded edging. The five remaining planets were spaced far enough apart that he had little time to dilly-dally. None of them posed a particular threat; their military defenses would not be a problem—in fact, he considered these planets ill-prepared, their defenses pathetic.

  But destroying any planet was no small feat. It took all six of his Vanguard dreadnaught warships, firing their oversized plasma cannons simultaneously, close to an hour. Typically, the end results were spectacular—thrilling, really. But some planets were nearly impossible to destruct within that time frame—those with higher H2O contents—primarily, those worlds with large oceans. It had something
to do with their atmosphere’s refractive properties. Looking down at the display, he saw none of the telltale blue of an oceanic world on any of the remaining four planets.

  The commodore cleared his throat, something that had become a habit in recent months. “These four worlds … disintegrate them. This one here, the green one—”

  “Yes, that is Jhardon, Commodore,” his second-in-command said, sounding bored and disinterested.

  “Jhardon. I like the sound of that word. Jhardon,” he repeated aloud. “I want to replenish our food stores. Capture no less than one thousand indigenous people for our cages. Tonight we feast at the caldrons.”

  Together, in unison, the bridge crew bellowed, “Consume our conquered!”

  Chapter 2

  It felt good to be back on The Lilly. Jason entered her bridge, finding his father in the command chair. The admiral, seemingly lost in thought, noticed Jason and hesitated before standing and shaking his son’s hand.

  “Good work down there. What you accomplished is—”

  Jason smiled and nodded. “Yeah … It definitely was something.”

  “You look like shit,” the admiral said, scanning Jason’s face.

  “Battling one too many time realms on Earth, I guess.”

  “You need some R and R; you all do.”

  “Uh huh, I wanted to talk to you about that.”

  “Why don’t we grab some grub—catch up,” the admiral said, already heading off the bridge.

  They walked together in silence down the corridor, through the DeckPort, down Deck 2’s corridor, and into the deserted mess. Plimpton was behind the counter with a rag, cleaning metal surfaces.

  “Good evening, sirs.”

  “Evening, Plimpton,” Jason replied. “We catching you at a bad time?”

  “No, sir. I have some lamb stew in the slow cooker for tomorrow. Or make anything else you want to eat from the replicator.”

  “I could go for some of that stew,” Jason said.

  The admiral held up two fingers. “Sounds good.” He scratched at the stubble on his chin. “You talk to Boomer yet?”

  “No, not yet. Delicate subject.”

  “The longer you wait—”

  “I know. I’ll talk to her. We’ll take a shuttle down to Earth later today.”

  Jason took the oversized steaming bowl and placed it on a tray. Large chunks of lamb, potatoes, and carrots, smothered in thick brown gravy, made him realize just how famished he was. They sat across from each other, both buttering their biscuits at the same time.

  “What’s coming will not be easy,” said the admiral. “Not only for the military, but also for every man, woman and child on Earth. I’m talking about a war like none other, Jason.”

  Jason looked at his father as he took a bite of stew. Burning his tongue, he cursed out loud. “Seems there’s a lot going on. Things I’m not up to speed on,” he remarked a bit huffily.

  The admiral looked up sharply. “It’s not my job to inform you of every one of my decisions, Captain.”

  Jason kept his face free of emotion. “What’s going on with you, Dad? That’s a bullshit answer and you know it.”

  The admiral continued to eat in silence. Jason felt unsure if his question had been heard or if he was simply being ignored. Then the admiral leaned back and stared at him until Jason raised his eyebrows.

  “What?” asked the admiral.

  “Tell me,” Jason said.

  “They’re coming, Jason. And it won’t be a fleet of fifteen hundred ships or twice that many or even twice that. They’re coming to make an example of us.”

  “Coming where?”

  “Earth, the Alliance, damn it! The Craing … They’re assembling a massive contingent with only one intention: to turn every planet within the Alliance to nothing more than space dust.”

  Jason listened and realized things were so much worse than he had thought even minutes earlier. “We knew they’d be coming. Just not this soon. So how do you know the details? Where are you getting your intel?”

  “Multiple confirmed sources: space traders, outer fringe planetary systems sympathetic to the Alliance, and others. They’ve seen them … thousands of Craing warships recalled from deep space—all moving toward the Craing worlds.”

  Jason rubbed his forehead, Plimpton’s stew now churning in his stomach. “We’ve beat them before, we’ll beat—”

  The admiral cut him off. “As you know, the Minian’s been spotted in Craing space. Our friend Granger is obviously making some kind of deal with the Craing. Can you imagine the Craing having phase-shift technology? Or worse, access to the interchange? Right now we have an advantage; we can call up a wormhole and pretty much move about the universe at will. Give that same capability to the Craing and it’s game over.” The admiral tossed his spoon into his empty bowl and sat back, looking defeated.

  Jason said, “Then we’ll get her back. Let’s talk about Her Majesty. How close are we to getting that bucket of bolts space worthy?”

  “Close. Brian wants to show us the ship, go over the plan one more time.”

  “And what about the Alliance? What are we doing to ready ourselves for a possible, probable, attack?” Jason asked.

  “Two things that need to happen quickly: First, the day after tomorrow, our presence has been requested at the Pentagon.”

  “Why? What do they want?” Jason asked.

  “I want them to have a greater influence within the Alliance.”

  “That’s new. Where’s that coming from?” Jason asked.

  “Well, I’m thinking it’s a good thing. Aside from the problems we had with Admiral Malinda Cramer and her fanatic Montana militia, now may be the right time to get the U.S. government and our own people more involved.”

  Jason gave his father a wary look and shook his head.

  The admiral sat up taller and said, “Come on … Who are the most innovative people in the history of our planet?”

  Jason shrugged, “The Americans.”

  “When Pearl Harbor was attacked, sending thousands of our boys to the bottom of the sea, who fought back with a vengeance? Who entered World War II, kicked ass, and turned the tide?”

  “The Americans,” Jason replied.

  “When Hitler’s German army invaded much of Europe and sent countless Jews and others off to the camps, who brought their military might to their allies, who made the difference?”

  “The Americans.”

  “So, let me ask you: who would you most want on your side when fighting an unbeatable foe?”

  Jason stared back at his father then also sat up straighter … “The Americans.”

  “Damn right! The Americans,” the admiral said. “It’s time we get the kind of support necessary to win this war.”

  Jason didn’t say anything, simply looked back at his father.

  “Listen, we’ve tried diplomacy and working within the political confines of the Alliance. Oh my God! The constant bickering. Trying to motivate all the planetary leaders to fight the Craing has been exhausting, right? As if they’re doing us, me, a big favor, when all we’re trying to do is save their thankless hides from planetary subjugation, or worse—total annihilation!”

  Jason saw where his father was going. “Okay … So now we take command, start acting as though our own survival’s at stake … which is certainly true,” Jason said.

  “Which it abso-fucking-lutely truly is,” the admiral said with conviction. “As the military commander of the Allied forces, I’ve led the Planetary Alliance in a fair and democratic fashion. Always knew that a strong military presence behind us was imperative. But it’s never been that way. Like a bunch of squabbling children … Sixteen years of this bullshit. So, again, what people most possess grit and fortitude? What military machine do we want having our back?”

  “Okay, okay, I’ve got the idea,” Jason said. “You think the U.S. government, its military, should take a more active role within the EOUPA and the Alliance.”

  “What
I’m saying is this: Screw the EOUPA. Get rid of it. The American people and the U.S. government will fulfill that role directly.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yes! Serious as a heart attack.”

  “Our allies and enemies alike will see this as more power mongering. All we’ll accomplish is adding more enemies to the list—on Earth as well as with the Alliance,” Jason said.

  The admiral smiled. “I’m miles ahead of you, son. Our allies, the entire world, know what’s coming: the Craing. And in a very bad way. It’s all everyone’s been talking about while you were down on Earth fighting dinosaurs for the last week. No, they’re not happy about it, but they’re starting to see the logic. We’re starting to see good unilateral support on Earth for a stronger U.S. influence within the Alliance.”

  The admiral continued, “Day after tomorrow we’re due at the Pentagon. They’ve requested you be there, along with me. Not everyone’s on board with my idea.”

  Jason nodded. “What was the second thing?”

  “You already said it. You’ll be taking The Lilly out to the furthest fringes of Craing space, just beyond what’s called the Orange Corridor. There you’ll wait for Ricket to gain access to the Minian.”

  “So this has changed from a simple intelligence-gathering mission to one where we board and abscond away with the most sophisticated vessel in the universe?” Jason asked, looking astonished.

  Something like that. But if you don’t get that ship, Jason, we’re doomed … the Planetary Alliance, Earth … we’re all doomed.”

  Chapter 3

  Captain Stalls paced. Up and back, and up and back again, he strode the narrow corridor behind the cockpit of his small shuttlecraft. Flexing his fists, he replayed the events in his head for the hundredth time. Again, he had been humiliated, beaten down. Worse, he’d been beaten down in front of Nan. Anger began to boil over—more than consumed, he was drowning in hatred. Stalls repeatedly hammered a fist down onto the nearest bulkhead—the sound reverberating throughout the small cabin. He would make him pay. If it took him the rest of his life, he would bring Captain Reynolds to his knees, make him beg for mercy. Stalls leaned up against the bulkhead and let his imagination wander … Oh yes, he would take great pleasure in seeing him grovel. But no. Death would not be granted too quickly. He’d need to prolong his pain. What would cause him the most pain? Stalls took in a long breath and allowed himself a fleeting smile. That damn kid of his, Mollie. Stalls let his imagination conjure up a delightful vision for the near future. Oh, yes, that was it … he’d make him watch the slow, painful, torturous death of that bratty kid of his.