Galaxy's End: Book One
GALAXY’S END
LeRoy Clary
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Galaxy’s End
1st Edition
Copyright © 2021 LeRoy Clary
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Cover Design Contributors: Karen Clary
Cover image: Used by license from www.bigstock.com
Editors: Beta Readers
Acknowledgments
Good books are a team effort, written by several exceptional people, all of whom have my thanks. This group sets my limits and helps establish the foundations for my books, keeping me on track as they progress.
My beta readers, Lucy Jones-Nelson, Laurie Barcome, Paul Eslinger, Dave Nelson, Sherri Oliver, Joel Mobley, and Pat Wyrembelski, all found lots of things for me to correct, and to improve. Thank you all. I want to publish the best books I can, and they are certainly better with your help.
My wife puts up with me and deserves extra credit for her help with the covers and her ideas—and she gives me the time to write.
And my dog, Molly. She sits at my feet and watches me write every day.
Books by LeRoy Clary
The 6th Ransom
Blade of Lies: The Mica Silverthorne Story
Here, There Be Dragons
The Last Dragon: Book One
The Last Dragon: Book Two
Humanities Blight
Nine Years After
The Mage’s Daughter Series
The Mage’s Daughter: Discovery
The Mage’s Daughter: Enlightenment
The Mage’s Daughter: Retribution
Dragon! Series
Dragon! Book One: Stealing the Egg
Dragon! Book Two: Gareth’s Revenge
Dragon Clan Series
Dragon Clan: In the Beginning (short introduction)
Dragon Clan #1: Camilla’s Story
Dragon Clan #2: Raymer’s Story
Dragon Clan #3: Fleet’s Story
Dragon Clan #4: Gray’s Story
Dragon Clan #5: Tanner’s Story
Dragon Clan #6: Anna’s Story
Dragon Clan #7: Shill’s Story
Dragon Clan #8: Creed’s Story
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Contact Information
Contact LeRoy Clary at leroy.clary@gmail.com or message him on Facebook at: LeRoy Clary's Facebook Page if you have questions and/or suggestions
You can “follow” LeRoy Clary on Amazon by going to: LeRoy Clary's Author Page. Amazon will then notify you about new releases.
If you’d like to receive earlier notification of LeRoy Clary’s latest novel releases, books in progress, or other cool stuff, please sign-up for his mailing list by going to: leroyclary.com. Your e-mail address will never be shared, and you may unsubscribe at any time.
CHAPTER ONE
Kat
Brill held up a cautioning hand as his eyes anxiously searched for nearby security robo-guards floating through the aisles of the packed sports stadium built to showcase the best human and alien gladiator combat matches. “Tell me again why they won’t they catch us?”
I shook my head and explained without trying to restrain my sarcasm, “The fake tickets we bought were for unsold seats. No worries.”
“That’s just what the scalper told you so he could sell them to you. Besides, you know we have to take it easy. That damn judge said he’ll treat us as adults the next time we’re in trouble. That means he’ll sentence us to work-crews.”
“Come on, you don’t see anyone waiting to take our seats or reporting us, do you?” My needlessly impatient tone was never a good sign. He should know enough to back off before I lost my temper.
He scowled instead.
Of course, buying tickets from a vendor hiding behind a peanut roaster was dangerous. Brill was right about probably nobody having real tickets. That was the operative word. Probably. The rightful owners might appear at any time—or they might see us in them and notify the security-bots.
But the morning was young, the sun bright, and the smile on my face genuine. All the signs of a good day. I was the more upbeat of the pair of us. I tended to view the world with cheerful eyes. The day was ripe with illicit opportunity. Untended belongings, credit chips in plain sight, and unwary citizens ready to give up part of their valuables all waited for me.
Spectators packed the newly constructed Roman Arena despite the early morning heat. An unusual buzz of anticipation filled the air as people gathered in clumps and discussed the first bouts. Our wrist-comps displayed the details of the gladiators, their past wins and losses, the betting odds for matches today, and other information.
A Salado of undetermined sex held four paper-wrapped synth-burritos in an appendage as I approached, moving more quickly than us. I mentally suggested that it didn’t want all four. Two were plenty. It sat on a stone bench and casually placed two beside it, retaining the others for a morning meal.
As we walked by, I paused and pointed to the burritos set aside as I asked, “May I?”
The Salado flashed a toothy smile. “Please, I purchased too many and I hate to see them go to waste.”
I thanked the being and handed one to Brill.
He took it when we were a few steps away, he whispered, “You know better than that.”
“Salados tend to easily gain weight. I did it a favor.”
“You know what I mean.”
I ignored him. Vendors in the aisles raised their voices to hawk their sweets, meat pies, and flavored waters. They offered beers from a dozen worlds—at stiff prices that tourists gladly paid. Anticipation and excitement of the coming contest filled the air. Even I bought into it. Besides, we’d managed to snag two seats on the shady side of the stadium, little more than halfway up the tiers of stone bench-seats, so we had a beautiful view and out of the heat of the direct sun. The primary star the world called Roma circled was white, tinged with a little yellow, which made everything stand out in stark detail.
A mature male Hoot, which is a reptile or something resembling one, strutted on the combat field wearing full battle armor. The Hoot had been pitted against what appeared to be a smallish human woman abou
t half its mass in the opening competition.
Being a slight, young, human woman myself, I decided to help her win by pushing helpful empathic data for winning the combat into her mind, which is like providing inside information to businessmen. I chewed another bite of burrito and promised myself to stop using my ability before someone detected my actions. If they did, it would be worse than ending on a work crew—I’d be dead.
However, in the joyous spirit of the moment and the coming gladiatorial contests, the woman on the floor of the arena reminded me of me. Her tiny frame moved with quick, birdlike actions. The double-edged broadsword she carried reflected the white sunlight of Roma, a backwater world that patterned itself after ancient Rome on Earth a few thousand years ago.
The contrast of the Colosseum, which looked like a modern version of the original in Rome in its heyday, and the roar of the starships lifting off a dozen kilometers away at the lone spaceport on the planet prevented some people from suspending reality enough to buy into the believability of the games. Only they were not games, not in the modern sense of the word. They were often every bit as savage and bloody as the historical contests they emulated.
“Which one do you like, Kathy?” Brill asked.
His breathless manner revealed his enthusiasm despite his attempt to hide it. Turning to him, I again noticed that he was no longer a snot-nosed kid, nor little, like when we’d first met. The young man known on the streets as Brill towered over me, despite our ages being relatively the same.
At one time a few years ago, I’d towered a few centimeters over Brill. But he was a male human—at least we believed him to be. That accounted for part of the difference in sizes, but Brill had shot up the last couple of years until he stood a half-head taller than most men, and he was filling out nicely across his chest and shoulders. Quite nicely.
He’d called me “Kathy” earlier to piss me off, his way of getting even for some perceived slight. Recently, I’d told him repeatedly to shorten my name from Kathy to Kath, and now to Kat, like a lithe, pink, slinky creature I’d seen accompanying a wealthy matron near the space docks where the pleasure ships landed. Determined not to let him rile me, I resisted his barb and said evenly, “Only a fool would bet against that Hoot. It has muscles on muscles and probably twenty years of intense warrior training.”
“It looks like everyone agrees with you. Have you checked the odds?”
The program on my wrist-comp tracked the odds. They had been in the Hoot’s favor all morning, three-to-two, or five-to-three most of the time. Now they had suddenly shot up to nearly seven-to-four as spectators got a good look at the two of them together and started to place their bets. It was a warmup match for today’s games, and a referee would call it. Non-lethal. The insane odds increased again in the span of a few breaths. The question was, who would wager hard-earned credits on that tiny woman who was barely able to swing the massive broadsword?
I settled down on the stone seat and adjusted my butt to better fit the hard flat slab as I watched her struggle and considered the situation intellectually instead of emotionally.
The games-masters should have never pitted such a small fighter against a warrior-class Hoot, yet they had. That was a fact. Lopsided bouts were losers for the stadium, the owners, and the basic concept of the games. Why?
Hoots were a reptilian species known for lumbering, powerful battles against each other, some of which lasted for tenths of a day. They were fierce, indefatigable, and single-minded in combat.
Warning tingles woke my brain in the same way as if I noticed three Coliseum Police descending on my location. They were not, but the tingles were similar.
In a perfect scenario, half the people bet either side to win. That means half of them will win the same amount they bet, which doubled their money, minus the ten percent the owners of the Coliseum kept for arranging the betting. Half lose it all, plus the ten percent fee. Guaranteed profits of twenty percent for the corporation, if done correctly.
In short, it cost eleven credits to bet ten, win or lose.
I elbowed Brill gently, “The odds are crazy. Something isn’t right. By the way, my name is Kat, as I’ve told you that a dozen times today.”
Brill peered at his wrist-comp and ignored the mention of my new name. “The odds are still increasing. Ticking up.”
One thought kept returning like a little yapping dog that wouldn’t quit. The games-masters always did their homework. Thus, despite the heavy odds, the spry little woman stood an equal chance of winning against the Hoot in their professional opinions. Someone was manipulating the odds to draw in more betters on her side.
I inhaled happily as a flush moved across my body. There was money to be made if I placed my bet properly. And my help might improve the chances of the human winning. Work to the Hoot’s left side. Stay out of reach of the mace in his right hand.
She almost stumbled as she stopped slashing the air with the huge sword and glanced up at the crowd in my general direction. Then she swung the sword awkwardly as more bets were placed against her. However, she had shifted the position of her feet to test moving to the Hoot’s left, something nobody else may have seen. But I did. She had heard and understood me.
The heavy unwieldy sword made her practice swings seem slow and futile. Her newly revised supporting footwork was awkward—and it showed. She appeared unable to defend herself against a strong wind. I suspected otherwise.
She placed her right foot in front and shuffled ahead, testing the new stance until it smoothed, and her motions became more fluid. From that position, she could attack the small shield held in his left hand. If she remained far to his left, she might be out of reach of his mace unless he fully turned to face her and exposed his side. If he lunged at her, she could swing at his unprotected right underside.
Circle fast to his left, I encouraged her. Act like you’re trying to get behind him. He can’t use his mace if you move fast enough to stay out of reach. Remember, you’re faster than he is.
Again, she paused and briefly looked up into the stands, then began shuffling quickly to her right, which was his left, using faster and faster steps as she adjusted her attack. The warmups lasted only a brief time, just enough for the crowd to see them practice and whet their appetite for which combatant to wager on.
Brill nudged me and whispered fiercely, “Are you doing mind tricks?”
“Maybe.”
He’d noticed my concentration on my wrist-comp, a flexible layer of micro-film impressed into our skin. The comp was required by law. The portable device could identify a person and track everything they did in the digital world. I turned my arm so he could see. My bank account had held sixty-three credits a few moments earlier, the most in the last six standard months. I’d just bet sixty of them on the human, holding only three credits aside to buy food in case I lost. In the back of my mind, I wanted to go for it all.
My eyes returned to the small woman and again measured her chances against the Hoot. She was a third of his size and clumsy. Money thrown away. I shrugged in dismissal.
Brill turned his inner wrist in my direction with a sly grin. He’d done the same as me, fifty-seven credits had been in his account, but he’d gone all-in. Still, if he won his account would have more credits than ever before. Hell, fifty-seven was more than he’d ever had because we’d been on a hot streak lately.
I liked his wicked smile.
The odds began slipping. Slowly at first, then tumbling. At those fantastic odds, those who liked long-shots were making huge wagers. Others saw the chance of a windfall and tried to wager before they fell too far. The odds dropped like clay roof tiles in a fierce storm, settling closer to even, which undoubtedly made the house happy.
One fact kept forcing its way into my thinking. Of all the species in the galaxy discovered so far, only a few managed to equal the ferocity of humans. We were unique, not because we had the most muscles, the longest claws, or the sharpest teeth. When our backs were to the wall, our instincts were
to reach for the nearest rock, hammer, stick, or knife. We fought to win. Always.
The woman in the arena switched to a smaller, lighter sword with a slight arc in the blade. It wouldn’t cut through bone like the broadsword. While the Hoot only needed to land one massive swing to dismember the woman, she would have to slice many times with the new sword to win. My heart sank. My money was as good as lost.
Watch his eyes, I pushed the anxious thought her way. He always looks where he is going to swing.
She stepped away from the practice circle and chugged water from a glazed stoneware cup. Her eyes searched the crowd, looking at places close to me. I turned away and pretended to talk to Brill, who seemed puzzled in response by my sudden display of public affection.
Inside, I quaked.
My stomach hurt, my head pounded, and sweat broke out across my forehead in tiny beads that threatened to join and run down my face despite the morning chill.
She knew about me and my mental power!
No, that couldn’t be true. Nobody was supposed to know about my ability. Not even my best friends, those who had lived in the streets with Brill and me. I’d done it hundreds of times. Made suggestions. Provided pointers. Not so much interference that the person became uncomfortable. Just enough to shift the balance of a situation in my favor.
When playing cards for copper pennies, I occasionally pushed opponents to throw in a winning hand because they were convinced my hand was better. Not often, but enough to make sure I left the table with more than I’d sat down with.
The Hoot towered over the human woman who seemed to shrink while standing at his side. His huge bulk strained the seams of his leather and bronze chest-plate. The shin-guards of the same material rose well above his angular knees, and additional armor protected the entire left side of his body. The armor covering his left arm from the wrist to shoulder probably weighed more than his opponent. He held a small shield loosely in his massive left hand.