The Girl in the Tank: The Galactic Consortium, #1

By R. J. Eliason

Less than five months ago, lights appeared in the sky. Days later the ships started to arrive. They call themselves the Consortium. They are human, or at least Simian, descending from the same genetic line as humans. They terraformed this planet centuries ago, sent settlers a mere forty thousand years ago. Now they are back, ready to begin the exploration of this galaxy.

For Cheyenne Walker, Chief Petty Officer aboard the Cambridge, a USS destroyer, the arrival of the Consortium is just one more obstacle to finishing her final tour of duty and getting home to her kids. The political upheaval forces the US into an uneasy alliance with the Consortium against China, and puts the Cambridge on the edge of a nuclear blast.

Cheyenne wakes to find herself aboard the Corelean, a Consortium Medical Evacuation ship. Floating in a medi-tank, she wonders if they really can’t repair the wreck of her body, whether these newcomers are friends or foes and most importantly, will she ever make it back to children?

• Language: English
• Publisher: R. J. Eliason
• Release date: Sep 26, 2015
• ISBN: 9781516398676

R. J. Eliason

R. J. Eliason writes immersive science fiction and fantasy stories that feature diverse characters. Her writing spans many sub-genres from alien contact, apocalyptic stories and epic fantasy. She also writes in a wide variety of formats, from full length novels to an ongoing serialized adventure. Her writing can be found in digital and print formats anywhere online that books are sold. Or check out her website at rj.eliason.com and sign up for a free book. 

Book preview

I dedicate this to the hundreds of sci-fi fans I’ve met over the years. Your many discussions and suggestions about how things might be and my reactions to those suggestions have gone, in some fashion, into this serial.

Attack

Cheyenne was jolted awake by the ship’s sirens. All hands to stations. I repeat, all hands to stations, the intercom blared. Flashing red lights lit her quarters. Her kids’ faces were illuminated in each flash. James Junior was a scrawny boy of nine with big eyes and dark hair, like his mother. Mackenzie, next to him in the photo, was eleven. She, too, was scrawny and had her mother’s hair, but it was her father’s eyes and wrinkled brow that looked out at Cheyenne. The timid smile was simply Mackenzie.

She had taped the photo there so it would be the first thing she saw when she awoke. Usually it brought a smile to her face. Not today. The blaring of the sirens and the way the photo appeared and faded with each flash set Cheyenne’s nerves on end.

She threw herself out of the bunk and turned on the light. It took her only a minute to climb into her uniform jumper and maybe twice that to shove her feet into her boots and lace them. Just long enough to wonder what was going on. The USS Cambridge was two days out to sea from Taiwan. It was too soon to see action, way too late to be running drills.

The ship lurched as the engines were cut. Cheyenne pushed herself up, wondering what that meant. They had been moving at full power toward the tiny island state since last night.

She pulled her dark, shoulder-length hair back into a ponytail. She preferred to braid it, but there was no time now. Turning to her door, she saw another picture of her kids. It was an old one; the kids were two years younger and James Senior was in the picture. She’d have bent the picture to eliminate him, but he was in the middle. She paused one second to look at it. Mackenzie had a suspicious look on her face, like she knew her parents’ marriage was on the skids.

Cheyenne held two fingers to her lips and kissed them. She pressed it against the girl’s cheek. One more deployment, honey. I promise, she said. Then she stabbed her finger at James Senior, hard enough to hurt. Fuck you, she snarled, then opened the door and dashed out into the hall.

Chief Petty Officer Cheyenne Walker shoved the thought of her family out of her mind as she barreled down the final staircase toward the main missile command. What’s the sit rep? she barked as she grabbed her com rig.

Petty Officer Dan Oleson, her second in command, gave her a worried look. We spotted a sub on sonar, ma’am, he said. Chinese, nuclear.

They are coming up hot, Seaman Ron Jensen howled from his console station. T minus five till they break surface, armed to fire.

Talk to me, Kleppie, Cheyenne yelled across the command center.

Aegis is online, ma’am, Seaman Karl Leipeweitz replied, his voice terse. We have guidance systems, but the firing array keeps locking up and shutting down. There was a groan around the room.

So we can aim but not shoot . . . great, Dan joked.

Cheyenne exchanged a look with her second in command.

Can the Others do anything? he asked.

The Others. He meant the aliens, the ones who had shown up in earth’s skies not five months ago. The aliens who called themselves the Consortium and were not aliens at all, but humans like us. Or mostly humans: Simian, they said, from the same genetic line as humans. They had others, variations of human evolution that