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War and Mystery Beyond the Stars

Outpassage

by Janet & Chris Morris

Genre

Science Fiction

WAR AND MYSTERY BEYOND THE STARS

Sgt. "Det" Cox has just spent three years under psych observation on Earth; now that he's out-system, he isn't about to tell anyone he's seeing aliens again. Paige Barnett has lost everything, even her name, because she knows too much about the rebellion spreading through the Earth-Space mining colonies.

Together Cox and Barnett stumble upon the mystery at the revolution's heart and learn why the rebels are willing to die for it.

Is their discovery humanity's worst threat or greatest gift? The authorities are willing to destroy whole planets to keep the revolution's secret from reaching Earth... What's to stop them from destroying two people?

"The Morrises' blend of fast-paced narrative and meticulous research into near-space technology makes a novel you can't put down."

-- C.J. Cherryh

"Action sequences that would make any writer proud. OUTPASSAGE is a wonderful book."

--David Drake

"OUTPASSAGE might just be the perfect science fiction novel."

-- Jack Williamson

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PROLOGUE

Fourth World Nightmare

The sky was thin and the color of dirty motor oil, except where it exploded above their heads. Concussion was delayed in the thin air but the smell of roasting Rangers got to you right away, even through your air filters. The terraformers hadn’t done much of a job on this classified ball of rock before the corporation workforce moved in, the shit hit the fan, and a request for military assistance followed.

The request wasn’t denied, exactly, but it was rerouted to InterSpace Tasking Corporation’s security division, who sent out a deniable reconnaissance team — thirteen US Rangers sheep-dipped for hazardous duty under the command of Colonel “Mad Jack” Reynolds.

It was Reynolds whose charred flesh was sending up the stink that made Cox gag as he dove for cover. Long recon meant long odds, long distances, and long hitches, but nobody ever wanted to think it meant dying a long way from home.

Overhead, even through his flash-and-blast suppressing helmet, Cox could see the enemy coming in for another strafing run. Nobody ever thought the enemy was going to come at you with airpower, either, because there wasn’t supposed to be any hostile force out here that had airpower.

In Cox’s ear, Locke was screaming over the comm set: “… suggest you form up for extraction, sir, at the beacon.”

Cox huddled under an overhang of silicate, his rifle cradled against his chest and his knees pulled up, shifted enough to turn his head. “Reynolds?” he said into his comm-mic, just to be sure.

But there was no way the barbecued officer lying beside him, charred limbs askew, was going to answer. The airpower came over and Cox covered his head: his helmet’s recon pack had sent plenty of pictures already; he didn’t need to risk his life for one more shot of somebody shooting at him.

He needed to risk his life to get to the extraction point, and that was about all he could handle. “Hey Locke,” he yelled into his mic because the airpower was strafing what was left of Reynolds: “Reynolds is past it. I’m here by my lonesome.” Rock exploded near him. Reflexively, he ducked his head in the shelter of his arms, eyes closed, and said as clearly and calmly as he could, “But I’m real ready for an order to get the fuck out of here.”

“Then give it,” came Locke’s voice, laconic over the static and hard to hear because the sniper aircraft was coming back for another pass. “You’re the only friendly voice I’m hearing.”

“Falling back,” Cox heard his own voice say, and his body followed suit. He knew he was calling the roll as he got to his knees, then his feet, crouched under the overhang, listening hard for even a groan or a grunt in response.

But nobody came back to him over his comm-link. Thirteen guys, and of the twelve on his comm-link, Cox couldn’t raise a single one but Locke. He was poised, his thighs cramping, as he waited for what felt like the right moment to sprint across the scree, a mapping display already enabled on his faceplate that gave routing overlays to his target — the extraction site.

But through the electronics, he could see Reynolds. Behind the colored grid with its pulsing points and alphanumeric displays, Reynolds seemed to be moving.

Sliding along the ground, almost. Cox didn’t want to leave anybody behind that had a breath of life ….

He scuttled toward Reynolds, his pack scraping the ceiling of the overhang — scrambled close enough to see that not only Reynolds’ left arm and leg, but the left side of his skull, was burned away.

Best selling author Janet Morris began writing in 1976 and has since published more than 30 novels, many co-authored with her husband Chris Morris or others. Most of her fiction work has been in the fantasy and science fiction genres, although she has also written historical and other novels. Morris has written, contributed to, or edited several book-length works of non-fiction, as well as papers and articles on nonlethal weapons, developmental military technology and other defense and national security topics.

Christopher Crosby Morris (born 1946) is an American author of fiction and non-fiction, as well as a lyricist, musical composer, and singer-songwriter. He is married to author Janet Morris. He is a defense policy and strategy analyst and a principal in M2 Technologies, Inc. He writes primarily as Chris Morris, but occasionally uses pseudonyms.

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