Marshal Book 1: The Coming of Marshal Revised and Illustrated

By Harvey Minnick Jr.

The Coming of Marshal is the first book in a series of science fiction adventure stories with a superhero twist that is guaranteed not to insult your intelligence and keep you entertained from start to finish. If you can believe in aliens, you can believe in Marshal. The lives of humans and aliens become intertwined for the first time in this fast paced adventure story. First contact goes horribly wrong, and all sorts of misadventures follow, as the human heroes and aliens try to learn to work together.

Life on Earth will never be the same after the COMING OF MARSHAL I try to put the reader in the middle of the action and some times the actions gets intense, as it should in any good adventure story. The book is self censoring. More sensitive readers are advised when reader discretion is needed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Apr 8, 2016
• ISBN: 9781490771502

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© Copyright 2016 Harvey Minnick Jr.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

isbn: 978-1-4907-7149-6 (sc)

isbn: 978-1-4907-7150-2 (e)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Trafford rev. 03/19/2016

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BOOKS IN THE SERIES

More to come

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One General, We Have A Problem

Chapter Two Take Me To Your Leader

Chapter Three Fall Of The Bastion, The Alien Agenda

Chapter Four The Alien Embrace

Chapter Five The Birth Of Dauntless

Chapter Six Litho Takes A Train

Chapter Seven Call Me Dauntless

Chapter Eight Alien Sex

Chapter Nine An Arduous Tour Of Duty

Chapter Ten End Game

Dedicated to my loving and supportive family and to my friends

in Eden whose help and encouragement

made Marshal possible.

Prologue

It was a bright sunny day in Washington DC. There was a larger than usual crowd of reporters gathered at the capital building’s steps. Someone called out, She’s coming! She’s coming! The reporters and TV news crews started franticly jostling one another trying to prepare for her long awaited arrival.

Off to the side, a woman of Asian descent, wearing a blazer and holding a microphone, stood before a cameraman on the steps of the capitol building. The air was electric; filled with anticipation. She fidgeted with her long black hair while her cameraman prepared the shot.

Finally, he gave her the signal to start rolling. She began, "This is Connie Banger reporting from the US. Capitol. We are awaiting the arrival of Earth’s one and only real-life superhero, Dauntless. She has been called to appear before Congress to explain her part in the recent disaster that befell Chicago.

She may also be briefing Congress on the aliens and their technology that may have been recovered. Speculation about the aliens has been running rampant. Questions like, did they survive? And what were they trying to do? And just what happened to them, are just a few. Perhaps we will know when Dauntless arrives and speaks."

A black government limousine pulled up just as she finished. As the limo came to a stop, the core of reporters promptly swung into action and swarmed all over the car, even before its occupants could get out.

The car door opened against the throng of reporters, and a beautiful twenty-something, buxom blond with a dutch boy haircut and business suit got out, followed quickly by a two-star Army General in his fifties. The girl was instantly mobbed by reporters hurling a thousand questions at her all at once.

They started to work their way through the crowd when they encountered the girl with the microphone. Dauntless, I’m from Chicago, the reporter announced. This caught her attention and she stopped and said, Yes, I recognize you.

The reporters all pressed in closer; Brandy was the center of a barrage of questions. You’re the Earth’s first and only true superhero. Why aren’t you wearing your superhero uniform?

The question caught Brandy, the blond center of attention unprepared, and it took her a few seconds to gather her thoughts before answering. I’m no hero. I’m here to explain to Congress what happened in Chicago, and I don’t think I’ll need my uniform for that. It’s not like I’m going into battle or anything.

Another reporter shouted out, What about Marshal?

Before she could answer, General Solo put his hat on and made his way through the crowd of reporters and joined Brandy. We don’t have time to answer your questions. We are due inside. So, if you’ll excuse us. He took Brandy’s arm and they both walked up the steps with the reporters clamoring after them.

As they moved through the halls of Congress, Dauntless turned to the general saying, I don’t think I can do this.

Don’t worry about a thing. It won’t be anything like that circus outside. It’s a closed-door briefing. Just tell them the truth. Remember, you haven’t done anything wrong, he said, trying to sound reassuring.

She stopped and asked, What about that truck I set fire to?

I wouldn’t worry about that. I doubt they even know or care about that. It was an accident. That’s not what they want to know about. They want to know about how Chicago was destroyed and about Marshal. So keep your answers confined to that and you’ll do just fine, he advised as they started to go in.

Before they could go through the doors to the briefing room, a young boy in a white shirt and tie jumped in front of her. He was one of the pages. He fumbled with a notebook before asking for her autograph. She blushed and smiled and signed his book as he asked, Uhh … what was Marshal like?

She shot a glance at the general and then back at the page. He was big.

The puzzled boy looked at the general for clarification but received none. They went in.

They took their seats in front of the bench. As the general’s aide adjusted the audiovisual equipment, nine congressmen came in and sat behind the benches. General MJ, (Michael John) Solo and Lieutenant Brandy Holmes (aka Dauntless) were sworn in and the proceeding was brought to order.

Mr. Morvan, the committee chairman, started with a statement. First, I’d like to thank you for coming today. I would also like to make clear that this is not a hearing and you are not suspected of any wrongdoing. This is only meant to be a briefing to let Congress know just how the city of Chicago was destroyed and what happened to the aliens.

General Solo took the microphone and answered before the congressman could add any more. First, I would like to correct the congressman. The city of Chicago has not been destroyed, just badly damaged.

The chairman jumped in, interrupting the general’s answer. Not destroyed?

That’s right, sir. The damage is limited to two parts of the city, the lakefront and the impact sight, the general snapped back.

The chairman went on to say, But the suburb of Berwyn was wiped out completely.

Yes, but that was collateral damage and had nothing to do with us. You’ll have to ask your FEMA representatives about that, the general said as he sat back in his chair.

His answer didn’t satisfy the congressman. I’ve heard that there are over 20,000 casualties.

The general answered after clearing his throat. That number is probably a little low, sir. The numbers are still coming in.

Brandy spoke up adding, We did everything we could to prevent the casualties. If you’re looking for someone to blame, try suing the Russians. It’s all their fault.

Another congressman leaned forward and interjected, Sue the Russians? Just what the hell happened out there?

As Brandy fumbled for words, General Solo spoke up saying, I anticipated that question and had this presentation prepared for you, if you will permit me to show this video. This was agreeable to all. The lights were dimmed and the video started to play.

A giant metallic ring floated in the cold darkness of interstellar space. Nearby, in geosynchronous orbit, was a gray rock three miles long. On the rock was a large Geodome with several ships docked in the bays that surrounded it. There were about one hundred buildings in and around the dome. Tunnels, or covered causeways, connected all of the buildings, forming a deep space shopping mall, with people coming and going.

A large tanker ship glided up to the ring and parked. An electrical storm formed around it and the ship suddenly disappeared. Bolts of static electricity remained for a few seconds after the ship’s departure.

This is Trumpeter Station, 3.7 light years from the Sofa Station, which puts it on the very edge of nowhere. But that doesn’t mean that it is unimportant. It is the hyperspace gateway serving much of the Foks nebula, the crossroads to the Federation and the trade center for the Neb farmers and miners.

A small, gray furry alien made his way down one of the back streets inside the dome. He looked like a four-foot tall ground squirrel with no tail and big black eyes. Stopping outside the door of a noisy bar, he fidgeted before going in. He made his way across the crowded floor to the bar and told the bartender, I am here to see Morgana.

He was shown to a smoke-filled back room. Morgana, a tall well-built bald alien woman sat at a table flanked by two different aliens. A large heavyset alien resembling a pug dog was on her left with a smaller gray alien on her right. She put down her drink and said, Weasly, I hope you have come to pay me the money you owe me.

No, it is not due yet. But I have something even more valuable to you, the nervous rodent said.

She leaned forward. More valuable? Speak. She was intrigued.

I can tell you how you can free Adack, he offered up hopefully.

She exhaled heavily and fell back in her seat. Stop wasting my time. We already know he will be leaving Sofa Station and coming here on his way to Cannon Minor.

You do? he replied, sounding a little hopeless.

Yes, and there is nothing we can do about it, she finished.

Ahh, why not? He asked, with a reassured expression on his face.

Because he will be a prisoner on the cruiser Constellation, the gray alien interrupted.

It is hopeless. A dozen pirate ships could not take that ship, Morgana added. So, if that is all you had, she said with a dismissive flick of her wrist.

Ahh, yes, but what if I told you he was not going to be on the warship? he asked slyly.

The trio looked at one another. A debate broke out between Morgana’s companions. Could Nova be wrong?

Or could Nova Dame be lying?

What reason would she have?

There are reasons enough, Mogana announced. and then commanded him, Go on, and make it good.

The furry alien sat down and began to speak. As you know, I work for the Harbor Master’s Office. I schedule jump times and docking assignments.

Yes, I know all of that! Stop wasting my time and get to it. What do you have? She was starting to lose her patience.

Two Federation ships are coming from Sofa Station, the Constellation and the Bastion, an older cruiser. The Constellation is staying over for three days, but the Bastion is going right on through. They are not even stopping. Adack has to be on the Bastion, and if he is, you can take it between Cannon Major and Minor.

How do you know this? The gray asked."

From the flight plans, he answered.

Flight plans can be changed or even forged. You will have to do better than that, he scoffed.

Oh, I can do better. The officers of the Constellation called ahead to confirm their reservations at the casino. The Bastion is not even going to stop; no berthing reservations, no resupply request, nothing. Just a scheduled jump to Cannon.

The little furry alien continued, They want you to think he is on the cruiser, knowing you would never attack such a powerful ship. They are using it as a decoy, hoping the Bastion can slip by unnoticed. While you are watching the Constellation here at Trumpeter Station, the Bastion will be making the run between Cannon and Cannon Minor.

Morgana’s gray companion picked up a handheld computer on the table and manipulated it. He turned to her saying enthusiastically, The Bastion is an older cruiser. It has been converted into a prison transport. It is no pushover, but we could take it.

Morgana turned to her visitor and smiled. If this turns out to be true, this will square your debt.

I was hoping it would more than cover it, he responded.

You can always hope, she answered back, with the same sly smile.

She turned to the gray saying, Call all of our ships. We meet at Cannon Prime.

The chairmen’s voice rang out. The video was stopped and the lights came up. What was that we were just seeing?

The general looked a little nervous as he looked around the room before answering, That was, uh. . . an approximation of the events leading up to the first disaster in Chicago.

And just how did you come up with that piece of science fiction? The chairman asked sarcastically.

This annoyed the general and it was evident in the tone of his voice. That was no science fiction. That was a reconstruction of probable events leading up to the disaster. It was made using information and images gleaned from recently recovered alien technology.

The chairman countered, Really? Perhaps we should ask Lieutenant Holmes, or should I call you Dauntless?

She turned to the general and put her hand over the mike. This is starting to sound like a witch-hunt. What should I tell them?

He leaned over to her. Remember, we work for them. Tell them the truth. Don’t leave anything out. And if this does turn into a witch-hunt, don’t worry. We already have immunity granted to us by the president.

She took her hand away from the mike and the chairman asked her, Tell us what happened?

The general’s aide handed her a folder which held some notes in it. She glanced down and began.

CHAPTER ONE

General, We Have A Problem

It all started nine months ago, far away in the Muck Tuck region of space. It’s a dangerous place, on the edge of the frontier of the Federation, home to free-roaming pirates and cutthroats who operate out of the nearby nebula. The Federation is only now just starting to bring order.

No one could have known, or even suspected, that the events that were about to happen would have such a major affect on life on a small blue world called Earth, some 15 light years away.

A small, sleek, twin-engine cruiser streaked through the cold dark vacuum of space with its exhaust glowing a bright yellow. Effortlessly, it darted around the pieces of space rock and clouds of gas and dust that punctuate that part of space. It spiraled counterclockwise above the nebula that completely fills the lower horizon in all directions.

The cruiser’s destination is the fractured remains of the planet Cris III. Once, it was a lush and fertile planet, but now, it falls away from its sun and into the nebula below, looking like a half eaten apple.

As the ship draws near, the slight haze of an atmosphere could be seen. The rock strata of the planet’s interior now lay exposed. Even the remains of the molten magma core can be seen, now solidified as glassy lava.

Starlight glistened off the surface of the cruiser as it dove below the horizon of the planet’s surface and continued its approach. The rocky crags of the planet’s interior loomed large as the cruiser continued its descent.

The yellow glow of the ship’s engines faded away as the power was reduced. The ship continued down toward the planet. As it started to encounter the wisp thin atmosphere, the bottom side of the ship began to glow a dull orange and the rush of air could be heard.

The cruiser hurled past the rocks at a tremendous speed, drawing closer and closer. Finally, the cruiser rolled over and did a back-flip just as it passed over the edge of the planet’s surface. The cruiser righted itself and continued racing along, keeping low in the frozen valleys and canyons, trying to remain undetected.

As its speed started to bleed off, a mast sprang up from the top of the cruiser and rotor blades unfolded and started to whirl. Supported by the spinning blades, the craft continued on, staying just above the frozen surface, kicking up clouds of white powdery snow as it passed. Keeping low in the shadows of the ridge, only the sound of the whirling blades revealed its location. The cruiser continued on.

A short time later, in a compound on the planet’s surface, with a hundred shipping containers and smaller crates scattered about, a dozen or more armed aliens of various species look on as a young girl, dressed as if she could be an elfin princess, was pinned to the ground by a lecherous pirate.

She struggled in a vain attempt to resist his advances.

As his serpent-like tongue licked about her face, she cried out in revulsion, Get away from me!

His advances were interrupted when a large shiny black boot crashed down on the ground beside them. Startled and confused, they both stared at the boot. Then a loud booming voice commanded, Get off her.

The pirate, looking up, started to roll over saying, Wait your turn! He was more than a little surprised to see a large muscular Federation marshal hulking over him in his white, high-collared uniform with a gold-visor helmet. A thousand thoughts raced through his brain.

He knew he was in trouble, but not because of the Marshal’s badge; he had no respect for badges. Nor did the sight of the Marshal’s plasma gun scare him. He had been in gunfights before. All he could see of the Marshal was his powerful square blue jaw and rippling muscles beneath the uniform. This was more than a little unsettling and told him the Marshal was an Aurorean.

Before he could act, the shiny, black boot of the marshall impacted his midsection, sending him flying back through the thin air. He slammed into two of the surrounding pirates, sending them crashing into and toppling over some of the cargo containers that had been stacked behind them.

The princess sat on the ground in a state of shock, looking up at her would-be rescuer. He stood there, ready with his plasma pistol. As the cargo containers tumbled down on the pirates, he calmly said, Wrong answer.

He bent down and scooped up the girl with an open arm and pulled her close to his powerful body. You’re coming with me.

She threw her arms around his neck. You can take me anywhere you want to go. Just get me out of here!

Clutching the girl with alabaster skin and long braided hair close to his side, the blue-skinned marshall crouched down and made a powerful leap. They sailed over the nearby stack of containers with his cape and her long red hair flapping behind them.

As they came down behind the cargo containers, an alien with ram horns and features of a goat came running up. Shoot em’ you fools! He’s making off with our prize!

Behind the cargo container, the report of weapon fire could be heard; the young girl pulled herself closer to the marshall and caught him completely by surprise by kissing him on the cheek.

As bullets whizzed by and struck the container behind them, he pushed her back asking, Why did you do that?

You saved my life! She replied.

It’s not saved yet, he said. Stay here and keep down. I’ll get your father.

But you cannot fight them all! She protested.

Elsewhere, the air was filled with the sound of whining engines and the rush of air. A cloud of snow was kicked up. The twin engines of the sleek cruiser have come back to life. As the craft started to move, the twin 40 mm plasma cannons on the nose landing skid snapped into firing position.

In the cockpit, the female deputy was furiously working the controls. Marshal, this isn’t good. The scanners are showing over 30 of them closing in on you. I’m coming in!

The goat-headed alien directed a line of pirates, using all manner of weapons to fire. The sound was deafening. The outline of the marshall could be seen in the flashes. There were several explosions and a blinding flash. The air reverberated with a shock wave and then nothing. It all faded to black.

A shapely young lady in tight jeans with short blond hair clutched her purse as she walked down the dark, rain-soaked street. This is a bad neighborhood and she shouldn’t be here. The sound of the heels on her cowboy boots echoed down the street.

As she reached the corner of the brick building, a large black man jumped out and grabbed her from behind and snatched her up, whisking her back into the alley.

Half a block away, on the other side of the street, were three men in a car. The man in back came up in the middle and blurted out, What just happened? I turned around for a second and she was gone!

The heavyset man in the front passenger seat spilled his coffee as the driver reached for the dash-mounted radio. He’s taken the bait! All units move in!

While the three detectives scrambled to get out of the car, things were taking a turn in the alley.

Brandy’s arms and legs were flailing about as her assailant gained control of her. She started to call out for help only to have her screams muffled by his right hand over her mouth. Be quiet, bitch! he ordered. She tried again, but failed. I said, be quiet or I’ll cut you.

Brandy tossed her purse down, but he continued to hold her. She realized that it’s not her money he wants. She also realized that he said he would cut her, but he has no knife in his hands. It’s time to make him sing!

She drove her elbow deep into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Next, she stomped down on the instep of his foot with the heel of her cowboy boot, causing him to sing out, Yeoooww!

She continued her attack with a sudden strike to his nose with her right hand. And then she tried to hit him in the groin, but he caught her arm on the way down and spun her around.

He pulled out a switchblade and said, You’re going to pay for that.

She thought, I should take off and run, but I can take him, and besides, I have help coming. She quickly grabbed his arm and twisted him around, slamming his head into the brick wall.

He staggered back and dropped the knife just as the cavalry arrived. The driver of the unmarked car was the first to arrive with his gun in hand. Freeze! You’re under arrest!

The younger detective from the back seat and two uniformed patrolmen showed up. Brandy, are you okay?

She turned to him. Yeah, I’m okay. This jerk never had a chance. I’m glad I was able to help you put this guy away.

Brandy and the detective in the trench coat walked away. A police car pulled up with its lights flashing as the last detective finally arrived, coffee stain and all.

Brandy stopped walking, visibly shaken by her recent ordeal. Detective Carter asked if she was all right? Yes, I’m fine. I just got my adrenaline rush. It always hits me like this. I’m okay during an emergency; it’s not until it’s over that I get the shakes.

Brandy, you gave us quite a scare back there. Williams spilled coffee all over the car and I’ve never seen Thompson move that fast. You did a great job on this case. I’ll put in a good word for you with your lieutenant. When you get out of the army, give us a call. We can always use another good policewoman like you on the force.

Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind, but I’m only here for a few more weeks training with the National Guard, and then I’m going back home to join my unit in Chicago. But it was good working with you on this case.

Three months later, near the Foks nebula, a flight of four star fighters of various designs screamed through space. They all appeared to have been cobbled together, using parts not intended for each other. The fighters started to climb away and rolled over into a diving attack. As they do, the vanes on their exhaust can be seen glowing white-hot. Their oversized engines propel them at great velocity, 0.7 LSV., making them nearly impossible to hit.

As they reached the zenith of their climb, a flurry of white-hot plasma bolts past them. The leading fighter was hit and exploded with a blinding flash. The remaining three ships flew through the wreckage and pressed on with their attack.

Beneath them was their target, an old warship 100 times bigger than the attackers. With its engine slung under the hull and one turret on top, it is not totally unattractive, but it is not sleek either. Once it was considered the top of the line, but not any more. Now it is just another tough old bird, a bird that appears to be standing still, but in fact is doing nearly 0.4 LSV. That’s not a bad speed for such a large ship.

The wings of the fighters held clusters of Ship Killer missiles. One by one, they fell away from the ship. The AM engines of the missiles ignited, giving off an orange burst of light and then the missile was propelled off at astounding speed. Too fast to see, only the orange streak left behind betrayed their true location.

The first three Ship Killers flew off into empty space. The fourth one slammed home, crashing into the side of a great ship’s engine. There were six explosions as the missile bored its way through the ship.

The great ship shuddered as the Ship Killer went completely through the engine, exiting the other side and exploded underneath the ship, causing it to heave upward. The tough old frigate continued on, venting gas, giving off sparks, and leaving a trail of smoke and debris.

One of the fighters peeled off and dove down below the frigate, while the other two swooped down and pressed the attack. The turret of the ship tracked them and they exchanged fire. One Ship Killer struck on the round, armored portion of the bridge and glanced off before exploding overhead.

The twin-engine fighter was cut in half by a plasma bolt and erupted into flames. One of the engines flew off and hit the other fighter, causing it to veer off out of control.

The last remaining fighter under the ship pulled up and put a Ship Killer through the aft hull. There were more secondary explosions inside the ship. The lights flickered and went out.

His speed being too great, the fighter zoomed up over and behind its prey. He leveled out and strafed the ship with smaller caliber cannon fire. Both of the ship’s engines were now streaming smoke and debris.

The lights suddenly came back on. The turret rotated into position and fired one shot. The fighter was vaporized. Free of its tormenters, the stricken frigate continued out of control, spiraling into the nearby asteroid belt. Twin trails of smoke and plasma continued to flare up as the ship came to a halt over a dead moon.

Captured by the moon’s gravity, the ship started to slowly descend. Inside, the crew, a mixture of small gray and taller blue-green aliens with no hair, desperately tried to call for help and make repairs.

On the darkened bridge, several alien silhouettes were speaking, Captain, we do not have enough time to repair the engines. We have to fire off a packet before we crash on that moon.

I’ll prepare a message. Ready the antimatter.

Outside the ship, between the engine nestles, an orange electric bubble started to form.

Is the antimatter charge ready to fire off the message packet?

Almost, sir.

As the bubble grew bigger and more energetic, the ship continued its descent toward the moon.

We’ll be able to fire the packet off in just a. . .

Another voice interrupted, Captain, three more raiders are coming out from behind the moon!

Three fighters, not unlike the previous ones, were strafing the frigate’s left flank. These fighters were armed with cannons and various rockets. All three opened fire on the ship.

They poured fire into the ship, intent on capturing it. It was too late when they finally saw the growing antimatter charge. Their fire swept right into it and there was an electric buzzing sound as the bubble started to expand in a blinding white flash. Their last words, roughly translated as, Oops!

Six months later, back on Earth, there were two MP’s in BDUs. (That’s Military Police in camouflaged fatigue Battle Dress Uniforms with helmets and pistol belts, for you non-military types.) They were standing on the edge of the motor pool of the Illinois National Guard on the night before going on their yearly maneuvers, with fifty or more Army trucks and assorted vehicles all parked close together.

Brandy’s voice rang out in the cool night air, What the hell was that flash?

Sergeant Brooking came around a parked deuce and a half and said, It was probably just one of the street lights burning out. He walked up to her. Even in her loose-fitting BDUs, it was apparent that Brandy wasn’t one of the boys.

She fiddled with her flashlight and asked, Why do we have to guard these things? Nobody knows what’s in them.

Some of the vehicles contain live ammo and expensive equipment, he replied as he drew close.

That’s not what I meant, she corrected, "Why do