Deep Space: Book 1: S H A D O W S R I S E

[C H A P T E R] |No. 1|

Falludam, 7134. Time: {14:28}

It was afternoon at Vlane Station, one of the many United Galactic Federation military barracks on the planet of Falludam. The skies were quiet. . . maybe too quiet. Falludam's cities usually weren't calm for long, as the planet's crime levels were some of the highest in the Varkallan Galaxy.

The Galaxy Force, as the government's galaxy-wide peacekeeping program was known as, protected the civilians of their respective planets from things like terrorists, pirates, slavers, and catastrophies.

And this particular station was about to get another call on the day, as a sudden explosion rocked the quiet of the day, and then the sound of screaming assailed the nearby streets.

One civilian managed to escape the now held-up bank through the back exit, and frantically punched a number into a handheld radio com. There was a pause, a click then an automated voice came through on the speaker. "Vlane Station. What is your emergency?"

The man said as loud as he dared, "Galaxy Force! Hostage situation at Grennauld Bank! Send troops. They are armed!"

<---->

Vlane Station Time: {14:31}

"Alert! Hostage situation at Grennauld Bank. Falcon Team, you are cleared to engage. This is not a drill."

The overhead alarm jolted Jace Peregrine out of his exhausted state in his barracks bunk bed with a start. "—is not a drill. Repeat, hostage situation at Grennauld Bank. Falcon Team, you are cleared to engage."

Falcon Team. That was the name of Jace's fourteen-man squadron, which meant that he would be back in action for the third time this week. There goes my quiet day, Jace thought to himself, then instantly regretted it. Someone out there needs our help. He sat up suddenly in his bed as the alarms continued to blare.

Life as a member of the Galaxy Force, the United Galactic Federation's peacekeeping program, did have its ups and downs. Well, more ups than downs, but life as a soldier was tough.

The training was brutal, with many would-be soldiers just passing out during evaluations. Jace, however, still held on to the one piece of pride he allowed himself to keep:

He had passed the training course with flying colors. He still remembered the moment when Sergeant Holmes had gave him his badge and assigned him to Falcon Team. The commander pinned that badge to his new combat uniform as his mother looked on, smiling.

Then his mind was roughly thrown back into the present as the barracks door slammed open. In marched Sergeant Davis Holmes, the Falcon Team's leader.

Holmes was a generally unimpressive-looking man. He was somewhere in his fifties, with washed-out blond hair, colorless eyes, and twice-broken nose that never had fully healed. It was as if the color and life had been drained out of him long ago, leaving a pale specter-like figure behind.

But Holmes was tough as nails nonetheless, and no soldier made the mistake of crossing or picking a fight with him. They usually ended up with a broken arm, nose, leg, or a broken something else and a lengthy stay in the Medical Wing. Today, he was dressed in his usual commander's combat uniform, complete with a Liberator X-24 laser pistol strapped to his hip.

Holmes stopped and examined the squad; took in the scene. Half-dressed troopers fumbling for their blaster rifles or uniforms, dropping power packs and pulse grenades in their haste to prepare under the watchful eye of their commander.

"Hurry!" Holmes barked suddenly. "The longer it takes all of you dozy slugs to get ready is more of a chance that civilian lives will be lost!" Switching to the Ilves language, he added a few more pungent oaths. Across from him, Benjamin Foster, one of Jace's squadmates, snorted softly. Foster could understand and speak Ilves particularly well, and so he knew exactly what the commander was saying.