Lives of Future-Past (The Chronicles of Max Gunnarsson Book 1) Read Online Free
Author: S.K. Benton
vibrated on their legs and slowly rattled away from the craft, with two actually flipping over completely and making loud, clanging noises. The vehicle then started to lift off as the warehouse roof parted down the middle, opening up and exposing the clear blue sky above.
Suddenly, and without warning, dozens of armed, military-looking individuals dressed in black, full-faced helmets and black, articulated body armor burst into the warehouse, firing projectile and charge weapons at the craft while it still lazily floated upwards.
A blaring loudspeaker, projecting enough volume to be heard within at least a five-kilometer radius, announced the true intent of the invasion.
“ Attention Commander Gunnarsson. You are in violation of the Federal SSCC Non- Proliferation Act, and are to be taken in for questioning. Land immediately or we will be forced to disable your craft .”
With Socrates still floating close by, Draagh clenched his fists and was lightly rocking his head forward, as if he were trying to move the craft through mental will alone.
“Move, dammit, go now,” he hissed under his breath, but the craft just hung in midair, seemingly shrugging off the small arms fire being laid upon its hull.
Then, without warning, the spaceship shot up and out of the warehouse into the upper atmosphere at Mach 7, violently blowing a good percentage of the invading army back into crumpled piles of unconsciousness. Pieces of the roof, dislodged from the concussive blast, fell back to the ground and took out five more soldiers.
The young man wasn’t out of the woods yet, so to speak. As he burst up toward the blackness of space, Five Draeder class exo-atmospheric attack fighters pursued in tight formation, quickly and effortlessly catching up to his dilapidated transport. Weapons fire erupted from the Draeders, rocking and buffeting the small transport as it screamed out of the atmosphere, still being easily trailed by the attack fighters.
The fleeing man pulled a lever back on his dashboard, and machinery pushed out through the top of the ship, glowing and causing a rippling disruption space that somehow followed his flight pattern. The machinery of his ship reached up and into the rift as he increased his velocity in an attempt to buy himself time and avoid certain death.
Over their communication devices, or comms, the attack fighter pilots then received their latest instructions.
“ Shoot to kill. Destroy Gunnarsson and the craft along with him .”
Then, as they raced out of orbit, six individuals - the apparent fugitive and the five Draeder pilots - simultaneously pressed buttons on their control panels. Fortunately, for the man attempting escape, his touch was just a fraction of a second faster than the pursuing craft pilots, and his ship, The Machu Picchu, disappeared from sight and the local solar system.
Charge weapons flashed brilliantly into the space where the escaping ship was located only a moment before.
“ Return to base,” blared the comm. All of the attack craft then turned back to the planet below and screamed through the atmosphere, with the vid display turning dark.
Draagh quickly turned from his display and moved across the room to the table where his lit candles gently flickered. Setting his old, gnarled hands down on the worn table, he made a slight gesture toward the candles with his head, as the flames extinguished, leaving the room dark, except for the two view screens which provided only enough ambient light for one to be able to see. He paused for a moment before reaching over and picking up a large, ornate staff made of a wood that looked similar to mahogany. He then left his study in a hurried fashion, snapping his fingers as he left, which caused the two view screens to blink off into nothingness. Socrates also faded from view, his ubiquitous visage slowly dissolving into a stream of
Suddenly, and without warning, dozens of armed, military-looking individuals dressed in black, full-faced helmets and black, articulated body armor burst into the warehouse, firing projectile and charge weapons at the craft while it still lazily floated upwards.
A blaring loudspeaker, projecting enough volume to be heard within at least a five-kilometer radius, announced the true intent of the invasion.
“ Attention Commander Gunnarsson. You are in violation of the Federal SSCC Non- Proliferation Act, and are to be taken in for questioning. Land immediately or we will be forced to disable your craft .”
With Socrates still floating close by, Draagh clenched his fists and was lightly rocking his head forward, as if he were trying to move the craft through mental will alone.
“Move, dammit, go now,” he hissed under his breath, but the craft just hung in midair, seemingly shrugging off the small arms fire being laid upon its hull.
Then, without warning, the spaceship shot up and out of the warehouse into the upper atmosphere at Mach 7, violently blowing a good percentage of the invading army back into crumpled piles of unconsciousness. Pieces of the roof, dislodged from the concussive blast, fell back to the ground and took out five more soldiers.
The young man wasn’t out of the woods yet, so to speak. As he burst up toward the blackness of space, Five Draeder class exo-atmospheric attack fighters pursued in tight formation, quickly and effortlessly catching up to his dilapidated transport. Weapons fire erupted from the Draeders, rocking and buffeting the small transport as it screamed out of the atmosphere, still being easily trailed by the attack fighters.
The fleeing man pulled a lever back on his dashboard, and machinery pushed out through the top of the ship, glowing and causing a rippling disruption space that somehow followed his flight pattern. The machinery of his ship reached up and into the rift as he increased his velocity in an attempt to buy himself time and avoid certain death.
Over their communication devices, or comms, the attack fighter pilots then received their latest instructions.
“ Shoot to kill. Destroy Gunnarsson and the craft along with him .”
Then, as they raced out of orbit, six individuals - the apparent fugitive and the five Draeder pilots - simultaneously pressed buttons on their control panels. Fortunately, for the man attempting escape, his touch was just a fraction of a second faster than the pursuing craft pilots, and his ship, The Machu Picchu, disappeared from sight and the local solar system.
Charge weapons flashed brilliantly into the space where the escaping ship was located only a moment before.
“ Return to base,” blared the comm. All of the attack craft then turned back to the planet below and screamed through the atmosphere, with the vid display turning dark.
Draagh quickly turned from his display and moved across the room to the table where his lit candles gently flickered. Setting his old, gnarled hands down on the worn table, he made a slight gesture toward the candles with his head, as the flames extinguished, leaving the room dark, except for the two view screens which provided only enough ambient light for one to be able to see. He paused for a moment before reaching over and picking up a large, ornate staff made of a wood that looked similar to mahogany. He then left his study in a hurried fashion, snapping his fingers as he left, which caused the two view screens to blink off into nothingness. Socrates also faded from view, his ubiquitous visage slowly dissolving into a stream of
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