WIP excerpt: Gunslinger to the Stars

Here’s the first thousand words from my current WIP, Gunslinger to the Stars. It’s a departure from my usual stuff: a shoot-em-up adventure in the vein of Firefly and Guardians of the Galaxy. TONS of fun to write, and the ending is going to be absolutely spectacular. This may turn out to be the most entertaining book I’ve written to date.

But enough of me blabbering about it. Here it is!

Stranded in the Armpit of the Galaxy

The Gorinal Star Cluster is, in every meaningful sense, the armpit of the galaxy. It was just my luck to get stranded there right as shit hit the fan.

I didn’t know that at the time, of course. My ship, the Star Runner, was in pretty bad shape after a botched-up mission that I’d rather not talk about, and since the only trading commodity I had was the fuel in my tank, I was getting rather desperate for work. The Gorinal Cluster wasn’t my first choice of venue, but it was the closest place with plenty of job opportunities for a man of fortune like me.

The name’s Sam, by the way. Sam Kletchka. I was born on Gliese 832c, othewise known as New Texas, but didn’t spend much time there. Shipped off to Earthfleet Academy when I was nineteen standard years and dropped out after my first year to seek my fortune among the stars.

You see, back in those days, Earthfleet consisted mostly of 20th century submarines, lifted into orbit and repurposed for space. Only thirty-five years had passed since we’d made contact with the galactics, and we were in a mad scramble to put as many colonies on the starmap as possible. The Immortals had promised not to build a jumpgate within fifty light-years of Sol, and tech trading had given us fission-powered FTL and cheap ground-to-orbit. All of this meant that Earthfleet’s resources were tied up in the Gliese colonies—no boldly going where no one has gone before, at least not for members of Earthfleet.

Fortunately, we didn’t have to seek out new life and new civilizations—they were more than happy to come to us. So after dropping out of the Earthfleet Academy, I signed up on a Hyadean star freighter and never looked back.

The voyage out to the jumpgate at Aldebaran was long and boring. Like most ships built by the galactic junior races, Hyadean starships aren’t designed for long-range FTL. The reason for this became apparent when we arrived. Imagine an ancient ring almost five kilometers in diameter, built out of virtually indestructible material. When you look through the ring, you’re looking at a whole other starscape, light-years away. It very literally is a doorway to the stars, and it’s always open, with no gatekeepers to stop anyone from coming through. The Aldebaran gate has been open for hundreds of thousands of years—more than a hundred times older than the pyramids—and it’s one of the younger ones.

From there, it was a simple matter to travel between stars. The Immortals built the jumpgate network more than a hundred million years ago, and it runs almost the whole length of the galaxy. They don’t levy fees for it, either: the gates are as much a feature of the galactic landscape as planets, or black holes, or nebulae. Anyone can use them, and no one wants to live in a galaxy without them.

Which is why it freaked the hell out of everyone when the Gorinal Prime jumpgate went dark.

I had just flown the Star Runner through not fifteen minutes before. My ship only had about a half-tank of deuterium left, thanks to some evasive maneuvers I’d been forced to pull, and I’d also dumped most of my cargo, so I was pretty much flat broke. To add injury to insult, my right sublight engine was shot all to hell and the cabin was venting atmo. Like I said, I’d rather not talk about it.

In any case, I was navigating my approach to G-Prime V when the jumpgate shut down. Went dead. Turned off. There wasn’t a flash or anything, just a very brief flicker across the portal membrane, and then it was nothing more than a giant floating ring.

The comms went haywire almost immediately. A massive Nidrexian freighter has been passing through (one of those insanely long jumpgate hopping ships) and had effectively been chopped in half. Emergency first responders from the nearby monitoring station were scrambling to help out, and all the other ships queued to leave were filling the airwaves with all sorts of chatter. No one knew what to do, because nothing like this had ever happened before.

Yes, I’ve heard all the theories. No, none of them are true. How do I know? You’re jumping ahead. Trust me, it’s worth it to hear the full story.

So there I was, staring slack-jawed at a screen that showed the impossible: a jumpgate that had just shut down. Realizing that I was broke and stranded, I did what any sensible man would do: I headed to the nearest bar to get a drink.

The fifth planet in the Gorinal Prime system is the only one that’s habitable, for a given value of “habitable.” The world is essentially a giant desert, with oceans of sand instead of water. Fortunately, the spaceport that served as the main hub for the system was on the planet’s north pole. The weather was cool enough there to have clouds, rain, and even a couple of salty seas. Figuring it was the best I could do on a half-empty fuel tank, I decided to go down and try what was left of my rapidly deteriorating luck.

The first thing I learned after leaving Earth-space was that every jumpgate hub has a seedy cantina somewhere nearby. Sure enough, the place I was looking for was just a couple hundred yards outside the main spaceport entrance.

The second thing I learned was to get used to being the only human everywhere I went. Oh, it’s not so bad in the Orion Arm, where you can usually find a small expat community if you look hard enough. Xenopoligists, merchanters, vagabonds, and men of fortune like myself are all pretty common in that corner of the galaxy. But the Gorinal Cluster is in the Scutum-Crux Arm, on the far side of the galactic core. In that part of the galaxy, humans are as rare as ice on a neutron star.

So you can imagine my reaction when I saw a twenty-something blonde at the bar—one who was definitely not happy to see me.