Broken Glass (Glass Complex Book 1) by John Hindmarsh Page B

Drinker , sir. You have one minute to strap in,” the man advised as he directed Steg to his cabin. A ship siren sounded an almost deafening blast. “That’s the pre-launch warning.”
    Steg could feel the deck vibrating beneath his feet. The ship was coming alive, gathering itself for its leap into space. He collapsed onto the cushioned and padded seat as the crewman hurried away. The small cabin contained a bunk along one wall and lockers along the other wall. A viewscreen showed a view of the exterior of the star ship and a door at the end of the cabin presumably opened up into a small bathroom. The pull of acceleration caused him to fumble with his straps until at last he was secure. The ship was moving, lifting off and away from Homeworld, away from the Imperials forces that had tried to capture him. Steg was exhausted. But he was also exhilarated. He was headed into deep space.
    ******

Chapter 6
     
    The First Senior struggled to disengage from the photon pulsing channels of the Glass Complex. At last he raised his head and for a moment his eyes were blank as his mind almost refused to accept the reality of his bodily-sourced sensory data. Was this, he wondered, how death happened? Did the body and the mind somehow separate—disassociate—as the brain established its preference for the photon flows within the Complex? He shuddered. He was growing old and frail. Events of recent days had saddened and depressed him; the Glass Complex had failed to anticipate and repel the Imperial attack. He was weary and knew the problems ahead would take him to the brink of utter exhaustion. Would he then have the strength to withdraw from the Complex or would the photons take with them the very essence of his being? The question was one he was barely able to ask and he dreaded the probable answer.
    He gathered in his strength and focused on his companions. They were younger, far younger. They could jump into the photon flows with glee and youthful exuberance and who had no difficulties in disengaging from the Complex whenever they so desired. Ah, the joys and strengths of youth, he thought wistfully, almost enviously. At last he realized he had been asked a question.
    “Yes?” his tongue struggled with the simple word and he regretted the slight quaver in his voice.
    “We have the Guard officers—Major Reading and Colonel Shaw—waiting for your briefing, First Senior. Do you wish them to return later?” The youthful face was filled with concern.
    The First Senior shook off his weakness and straightened himself in an act of defiance against his unwilling mind. “No, Tobias. You may bring them into the conference room.”
    The small group of Acolytes and the two soldiers quickly assembled around the conference table and waited for the Senior to begin his briefing. At last he gathered the words to use.
    “Gentlemen,” he nodded at the two officers. “I am pleased that you managed to come here without encountering our unwelcome visitors. Continue to take care. The Imperials—Alutans—are on their guard against retaliatory action from Homeworld, from either Guards or Militia.”
    “First Senior, your call was urgent and so we came.” The speaker was the same major who had witnessed the sword fight between Steg de Coeur and the offworlder, Marius of the House of Aluta. The strain of his current duties and responsibilities was showing in the additional lines of tiredness and worry on his face.
    “Indeed. Yes. We need to brief you on the current strategy from the Complex. We have confirmed this is not a sanctioned Imperial operation but rather a rogue venture by the House of Aluta. We believe the key to recovering Homeworld is to cause the Alutan forces to diversify and dissipate their efforts. We need time, time to regroup, time to re-organize, so that we can strike back decisively and finally. So, for this stage, most of our recommendations involve guerrilla tactics here on Homeworld and offworld.” He paused.
    “This