Starship Desolation Read Free

canyons and peaks. Odd rock formations and spires that vaulted toward the heavens. Walker hoped he had enough lift to clear the rocks as he careened toward them. But he didn’t.
    It was close.
    So close.
    A foot to the left, and everything would have been fine. But the starboard wing clipped the edge of a spire, which sent the shuttle spinning like a frisbee. It cut across the sky and smacked into the flats. It was a bone jarring impact. Walker’s body slammed against the safety harness. The cross harness dug into his shoulders and chest. The lap belt mashed his pelvis. Pain stabbed through his spine.
    The shuttle skipped across the dry, sandy terrain like a stone across the surface of water. It settled into a groove, plowing up dirt and sand, vaulting plumes into the air. Bits of the exterior hull tore away. The craft plowed across the barren flats and caught the edge of a rock formation. The impact shattered the front polycarbonate glass windows. Shards pelted the cockpit in a deadly rain. A rush of hot air poured into the cockpit. The bulkhead crumpled. Metal twisted and groaned. The shuttle spun off at an angle, finally grinding to a halt.
    It took a moment for Walker’s head to stop spinning. His whole body was filled with adrenaline. There are always a few terrifying moments after an accident, when you are so hyped up that you can’t feel anything. You have no idea if you’re injured or not. Only when the adrenaline dies down do you feel the pain. Walker checked himself over. He didn’t find any obvious puncture wounds. Nothing seemed to be broken. He unbuckled his safety harness and crawled out of the pilot’s seat. He was a little stiff and sore—tomorrow, it would certainly be worse. But at least he had survived the crash.
    The windows were broken out, yet he was still alive and breathing. The air had to have at least some oxygen in it. Though it felt a little thin. He found himself breathing just a little bit deeper to get the same amount of oxygen. Or maybe it was the stifling heat. He had been to a lot of hot, shitty places in his career as a Special Warfare Operator. Dense, muggy jungles. Dry arid deserts. Dying volcanic planets. But he never felt anything this hot.
    Sweat was beading from his forehead. At the rate that he was losing fluids, he’d be dehydrated in no time. The wind kicked in sand through the broken windows. The tiny granules pelted him in the face. The sun scorched terrain was dry and cracked. Inhospitable. It had to be well over 130 degrees, and it was barely after dawn. The massive glowing sun hung just over the horizon, like a nasty fruit from the pit of hell. By midday, this place would be an inferno.

4
    Slade
    “ C aptain Slade , you are under arrest,” the Master at Arms said.
    Slade looked bewildered as she stood on the quarterdeck of the USS Devastator . It was an Omaha class heavy attack cruiser. It was older than the USS Scorpion , and was now serving as the central hub for all UPDF operations. President Amado had even setup his situation room aboard, just in case New Earth came under attack.
    An officer slapped cuffs around Slade’s wrists and ratcheted them tight. They dug into her skin. She was surrounded by a platoon of Marines, weapons drawn.
    “What are the charges?” she demanded.
    “Violation of the peace treaty. Disobeying commands. Inciting terrorist attacks,” the Master at Arms said. “I could go on, but you get the idea.”
    Slade clenched her jaw. This was total bullshit.
    Cameron was arrested as well on charges of treason. And Bo, the Saarkturian, was taken into custody as an enemy combatant. The whole thing stunk of corruption and political agendas. Someone wanted Slade out of the way.
    She had destroyed the invading enemy fleet and hobbled her way back to earth in a Verge escape shuttle. And this was the thanks she got?
    “According to the UPDF Code of Military Justice, I must inform you of your Article 31 rights,” said the Master at Arms.
    “I’m