Hi there, here’s a sample of Col Sec 3, Discovery, available from Amazon in paperback and kindle. Hope you enjoy, feel free to leave any feedback or comments.
Kurt Stryder stood in the rain listening to the service. Lost in the huge throng attending and wrapped up inside a large coat to shield him from the weather, he was certain no one would recognize him anyway. His was not the face of someone famous; rather it was of someone quite ordinary which had served him particularly well in his previous profession. Good bone structure gave his face a somewhat angular appearance, appealing to women as were his cobalt blue eyes. His blonde hair was longer than when he had been in Recon Delta and bleached from the sun of Celeron where he now resided in the family home he’d inherited after the death of his parents. In an effort to alter his appearance he’d grown his hair and even sported a goatee, just enough he thought, to pass any cursory inspection by security staff.
When he heard of the attack on Confederation Headquarters by the terrorist group OMEGA, he was horrified. His first thoughts were for those who lost their lives in the attack and he wondered how Col Sec would ever come back from such a disaster. As always, General Sinclair would bounce back and reorganise it so they could regroup and continue their work. Col Sec needed people like the General, what they didn’t need, in Kurt’s opinion, was more people like himself. Thanks to an experiment he was the subject of a few months ago, Kurt had been altered at the genetic level. His immune system had been boosted so that his regenerative capabilities were improved. Simple injuries healed almost immediately whilst life threatening trauma took a little longer. Up to the present time, he was not prone to illness in any form and he thought he was probably immune to toxins as well. He was certain he was almost indestructible but he had no desire to test that theory. Even though he knew all that, he still clung to life as something to cherish and he hoped that would never change. His new found abilities was something he’d kept from Sinclair, only a handful of people knew the truth and could be trusted to keep his secret and it was this secret, this burden he carried that forced him to resign his commission in Col Sec. The escalation of violence that the knowledge of what was done to him would bring was something he could not bear to see happen.
The service he was attending that dank and dreary morning was just another example of man’s inhumanity to man and it reinforced his belief that his decision to leave Col Sec had been the right one.
What to do with the rest of his life was something else though. For most of his young adult life, he had been a soldier, a man of action. His decision to join the military was a direct response to something his father had told him. His father had said that, all that is necessary for evil to triumph, is for good men to do nothing. Taking that to heart, he enlisted, hoping to make a difference. Now though, no matter what he did, nothing changed. All his efforts seemed to have done nothing and he was filled with a lethargy that affected his spirit as much as his strength. Whether he was still grieving over the death of Zara Hardy, the woman he’d grown to love or if the weight of the secret he carried was a burden too much to bear he was uncertain. What he did know though was that he needed to get away, not just to relax because he could do that at home, but more of a change, something different.
It was because of that he had purchased a ticket on the Colonial Cruise Liner, the Colonial Queen. He had never been on a cruise, so this might just help to sort out what he needed to do and at that moment in time, he had no idea just how right he was.
The service was over. The thousands in the congregation began to disperse but he remained rooted to the spot allowing the masses to move around and past him. Down at the front he saw three figures huddled under an umbrella; General Sinclair, Matt Hawk, standing at least a couple inches taller than those with him, the man who led the rescue mission that helped him escape from Alliance space and Colonel Anton De Boer who he knew from his time in Recon Delta. Matt looked up from his musings and for a second their eyes met. There was a moment there where he thought Matt recognised him but he looked away and the moment was gone.
As they moved away, the rain eased off and the sun poked its way through the clouds allowing the warming rays to brighten the day ahead. No matter how bright or powerful those rays were though, they could not extend their influence to dissipate the dark gloom nestled deep within him.
Bowing his head, he turned and joined the thinning crowd.
Kurt boarded the Colonial Queen, the most luxurious of all cruise ships and the company’s flagship, just two days after the service at the site of the catastrophic attack. She was in orbit around Titan, the largest of Saturn’s moons and a shuttle service for passengers was run by the company, so they could board from anywhere in the Solar System.
Travelling light, he took with him, one suitcase and a travel grip. He also took one extra item that stemmed from his past but which he found difficult to let go of, his Sig P996. The weapon had once been the standard sidearm of all Recon Delta marines. The pistol was based upon the automatic pistols of the twenty first century, notably the Sig Sauer P200 range which had a slide on the top of the short barrel and a moulded grip beneath. The battery clip fitted into the grip where, once the slide was jacked, it was ready to use. It could deliver pulsed plasma bolts at two settings. The lowest setting was a ‘stun’ setting and the highest would kill. It went everywhere with him and even though he was certain there would be no reason for him to call upon its services on a relaxing cruise, he took comfort from having it near. He stashed it in a shielded, secret compartment in the base of his travel grip along with three fully charged battery clips.
Kurt was more than moderately wealthy from his inheritance from the death of his parents. Monies earned from a lucrative sell off, of the family business completed a few years prior to his father’s death and it was only because of that fact that he could afford a berth on the Queen. This was the first time he had put the money to any use since inheriting it and he was determined to enjoy it.
He’d been on board for around half an hour, just enough time to be shown to his stateroom and square away his gear when he decided to take a trip to the Observation Lounge ready for departure. The steward, who showed him to his room, assured him
the view from there would be spectacular. Dressed in dark blue cargo pants, lightweight walking shoes, which were the civilian variant to the Hy-Tek military, boots he wore when in Recon Delta and a light blue, short-sleeved shirt, he left his stateroom.
Having accessed the available files on the computer via his Neural Interface, he knew every inch of the huge starship. He was familiar with all the facilities available to the passengers and he knew a few things the passengers were not supposed to know, all thanks to a careful hack or two, just to ensure his skills did not get too rusty and therefore go to waste. Things such as, they were being delayed in their departure because of one man, Prince Aswan, who had chartered most of the berths available. Kurt had been lucky to get his berth as most of them had already been sold to the prince and his entourage.
As he walked down the corridor from his stateroom heading towards the Observation Lounge he realised just how big the ship was, easily as big as a Col Sec cruiser in fact it had been designed around the basic body shell of the Legend. He also noted just how empty it seemed which in turn exaggerated the vastness of it all.
Everywhere he went he noticed the opulence of the fixtures and fittings. Gold light fittings adorned the walls, oak panels covered the floor and the technology available was of the very highest specification. Luxurious seats were dotted about on the deck next to observation monitors so the passengers could track their journey. Each stateroom was fitted out like the best hotel suite with viewports, computer access points and comfortable king sized beds. No expense had been spared to give the passengers a luxurious and comfortable cruise.
He was nearing his destination when he found a group of people moving toward him. Two large men were in front, followed by one more behind, who was in turn, followed by one more man with two more behind him bringing up the rear. They made no effort to appear as if they would make room for Kurt to pass, instead they seemed to forge forward damming up the corridor.
There was no way Kurt was going to back track until these people reached their destination, so he decided to meet them head on.
“Stop,” commanded one of the men in front, “You will back up the corridor, now,” he added in a tone that would brook no argument.
“Don’t think so,” Kurt replied.
The one who had given the command thrust out his right hand and placed it on Kurt’s chest to push him back in an effort to make him comply.
A wave of fury erupted inside of Kurt, possibly some pent up rage fuelled by the grief over losing Zara Hardy which was about to manifest in a whirlwind of motion.
Grabbing the wrist, before the man had chance to exert any pressure, Kurt twisted it violently. Bending the arm in a way nature never intended, he then punched him square in the face. As the first man hit the deck, Kurt back fisted the second man with same hand smashing him into the wall. The third man went to draw a concealed weapon, a pistol probably, but Kurt reached him before the weapon had cleared the holster. Grabbing the hand holding the weapon with his left hand, Kurt punched him with his right, snapping his head back. Still holding on to his hand Kurt relieved the man of his weapon then allowed him to fall to the deck where he lay next to his two comrades, stunned.
Turning to face the man those three had been attempting to guard, Kurt said, “Excuse me, may I pass please?” with exaggerated politeness.
Fear was etched across the man’s handsome features and in a quivering voice he replied, “Don’t hurt me.”
“I just want to get to the Observation Lounge to watch our departure, that’s all. If your boys hadn’t been so overzealous in the performance of their duty, none of this would’ve happened,” Kurt replied as his anger began to dissipate. The guards behind the man facing him were understandably wary of the blonde haired warrior and they had their pistols drawn and aimed at him. Unfortunately, because their charge was in front of them they did not have a clear shot.
Recognising the weapon as the Sig P996, Kurt asked, “Are these guys military?”
Finding his confidence returning the frightened man said, “Yes, they are supposed to be the finest, Col Sec’s Diplomatic Corp Security.”
“Then you must be Prince Aswan. I’m honoured sir,” Kurt said with a slight bow, then he walked past the prince. To the two remaining guards, who flattened themselves against the wall as he approached, said, “At ease guys,” and he tossed the captured pistol to them as he departed, leaving them to watch and wonder at what had just happened.
See you soon,