The planet was a pinpoint of light glimmering like a lonely beacon against the blackness of space. A finger of excitement tickled the base of his spine. His chest welled with a sensation of destiny.
Maybe it was too late.
Maybe this world was doomed one way or another.
But for the moment it didn’t matter.
He stared harder into the star field and thought he saw images in the vast darkness of space.
Could he make it?
The nav panel indicated something over twelve days to get there. He looked at his fuel monitor, his heart suddenly racing again, then twisted in the pilot seat to check the freeze-dry. He had enough fuel—barely—and enough food, and, if he skimped, enough water.
Perhaps his radio messages back home would fall on deaf ears. Perhaps he would crash on the planet and die without ever seeing another human being. But Torrance Black found that it no longer mattered.
He flipped the radio back on.
“Strike those coordinates,” he said. “I’m going to Eden. I’m going to see for myself what’s down there. If it’s still possible, come and get me.”
Then Torrance modified the shuttle’s nav coordinates and commanded the engines on half power to conserve. The craft adjusted its trajectory, and Eden came into position on his navigation screen.
Exhausted, he lay back in the seat, closed his eyes, and let his body give in to the need for sleep.
If things went right, he would finally see the truth with his own eyes.
If not, he had done his best.
EPILOG
THE MACHINE
Esgarat
Local Date: Convergence, Year of Kax, Cycle 56
Local Time: Eldoro Low
Sitting on an isolated perch of rock that rose from the desert floor, Baraq Waganat ran his knobby fingers across the lap of his robe. The machine’s sound, coming from a distance behind him, was a low hum broken by an occasional spark. Its electrical reek added to the smell of cooling dust and stone.
The open desert was a cold plane that faded into the expanse of deep darkness that came with full Convergence. The sky above was black and also cold, littered with the tiny lights that blazed without giving heat.
Little Eterdane hung over the distant horizon.
Years ago there would have been kado root growing here, but the nighttime was too cold for it now, and the dew that formed was acidic enough that it ate the kado’s delicate leaves.
Everything had changed since he was a young quadar.
There was no going back, though.
He had come to this desolate piece of desert in the remotest zones outside the Great Ring of Esgarat in order to fix the machine again.
It was a wave talker of the oldest configuration, and if Baraq was on a sudden surge of being honest with himself, he had to admit that it was nearing the end of its life. The coils had been replaced three times, an effort that grew harder to manage each day. With his father’s increased paranoia, the cost of maintaining a steward full time was no longer so easy to hide. Perhaps it didn’t matter, though. The machine had been broadcasting for more than two full cycles now, nearly fifty spans of Eldoro’s travels, and what had it achieved?
Nothing.
Stealing the wave talker was the only thing he had known to do, and it had achieved nothing.
The idea made him shiver.
Normally, Baraq hired one of Louratna’s people to do these repairs, but this time had felt different.
He closed his primaries, remembering the gauzy cover of cloud that had once protected the Quadarti.
Baraq missed his pair-mate and his son, Crissandr and Brada.
He missed the idea of hope.
Sitting here for what may well be the last time, Baraq realized how long it had been since he actually thought everything would be all right.
Tomorrow, he would return home to Crissandr, and soon after, he would see Brada.
He despaired, however, of ever seeing hope again.
* * *
A wind picked up, cold and harsh, making Baraq pull his robe tighter around his shoulders.
In the sky far to the south a streak of light appeared.
Interested, Baraq opened his primaries to take it in.
The light was brighter than other flashes he had seen, its color more the yellow of fire than the strobing flash of falling pebbles. It travelled more slowly as it fell, too. Its path twisted in ways that made him think of the flying machines that an old friend had once worked on.
Baraq stood up in order to get a better view, watching closely as the light faded into the darkness before touching the ground.
He raised his hand to the horizon and spread his six fingers to take a measurement.
When he was a whelpling, perhaps Baraq would have read too much into the light, but he was no longer young.
This was probably a rock. Given its burn pattern, possibly one of great value. The Family would have a use for it.
He took time to mark the positioning in his mind, and he worked to memorize his measurements—noting that the light had dissipated a handbreadth from the horizon, and mentally calculating the most likely locations for where it might have landed.
He would return with a recovery team soon.
As he worked, the wind cut into him harder and harder until, eventually, Baraq decided to return to the steward’s quarters and get some much needed sleep.
The trip home, he knew, would be long.
This is the end of
STARBOUND
STEALING THE SUN: BOOK 5
If you enjoyed this story, you might be interested in the rest of the series:
STARFLIGHT
STARBURST
STARFALL
STARCLASH
STARBOUND
STARBORN
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Ron Collins is an Amazon best-selling Dark Fantasy author who writes across the spectrum of speculative fiction.
His fantasy series Saga of the God-Touched Mage reached #1 on Amazon’s bestselling dark fantasy list in the UK and #2 in the US. His short fiction has received a Writers of the Future prize and a CompuServe HOMer Award, and his short story “The White Game” was nominated for the Short Mystery Fiction Society’s 2016 Derringer Award.
He has contributed a hundred or so short stories to Analog, Asimov’s, Fiction River Anthology Series, and several other professional magazines and anthologies.
He holds a degree in Mechanical Engineering, and has worked to develop avionics systems, electronics, and information technology before chucking it all to write full-time—which he now does from his home in the shadows of the Santa Catalina Mountains.
Ron’s website is: www.typosphere.com
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As always, I need to thank my early readers, John Bodin and Sharon Bass, but the fact that this book even exists is as much due to Lisa Collins, my wife, copyeditor, and all-around wise person.
Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Stealing the Sun
Other Work
Dedication
Epigraph
Introduction
News
Setting Priorities
Chapter 1
Ch
apter 2
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Arms Race
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
News
The Message
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Starbound
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilog
End Note
About the Author
Acknowledgements