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  Beyond

  The Complete Series

  Book 1, Book 2 and Book 3

  Iaz Grant

  Copyright © 2016 by Iaz Grant

  All rights reserved. No part of this guide may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Published by Grant Publishing

  Legal & Disclaimer

  This is a work of fiction. Any names or characters, businesses or places, events or incidents, are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Beyond

  Book 1

  Iaz Grant

  Copyright © 2016 by Iaz Grant

  All rights reserved. No part of this guide may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Published by Grant Publishing

  Chapter One

  Zebb crossed his arms, trying his best not to let his impatience show. His work here was done, and now it was up to the liberal politicians to wrap up the peace-treaty deal. He hated politics and all that came along with it. He was a soldier, not a diplomat, and sitting around discussing trivial things like campaigns and budgets bored him.

  He leaned back in his seat. He was itching to gather up his crew and fly back to Station 536, which was his home. But he knew that it was expected of him, as the captain of the squad that had managed to negotiate the peace treaty in the first place, to sit on the board of directors and the counsel while they sorted everything out. Sometimes his high rank had its perks, but this was not one of them. He was restless, but he had enough self-discipline to hide it and merely look detached and mildly interested. However, his mind began to wander.

  The voices of the men seated at the shiny round table faded to a drone as he glanced to his right. The wall there was made entirely out of strengthened glass, and he gazed out into the inky blackness of space, dotted with pinpricks of starlight. He was in one of the Alliance’s many space stations, this one millions of miles away from his home, and even though he’d just secured a great victory for mankind and its allies, he felt melancholy.

  He could see his reflection in the glass. He smiled a little, pleased as always by what he saw. He was muscular, with broad, rippling shoulders and a flat, iron-hard stomach. He was strong and powerful, and he often inspired fear in his enemies and admiration from his allies.

  His skin was a dark, rich chocolate brown that contrasted sharply with his white uniform. Back on Earth, people like him had been known as African Americans, but here, in the deepest reaches of the universe that was populated with so many other beings and races, not much store was set by skin color anymore. He liked it.

  “Captain.”

  He tore himself out of his thoughts guiltily. He hated being caught off guard. It gave an impression of weakness. "Yes?" he addressed the man who had spoken. The other men were watching him carefully, and the murmuring conversation had ceased.

  “I’d just like to thank you again for bringing peace to another section of our great galaxy,” Head Councilman Travers said.

  Like you care about peace, Zebb thought viciously. You’re just happy that there’s another planet that you can tax now.

  He smiled. "It's my job, sir. Pleased to help."

  “We have some things to discuss,” Travers said. “You may go now. Thank you for your service.”

  “By your leave, sir,” Zebb said gravely as he stood, barely hiding the relief he felt. He strode away from the table, and as he did he heard the men relapse into another dull conversation that he barely understood.

  A smile twitched his lips as he swung open the door and walked down the narrow hallway leading from the conference room to the general quarters of the station. He was going home.

  He swung open a door marked Lounge #5. He hadn’t given his crew any specific orders to wait for him, but he’d hoped that they’d taken it upon themselves to do so. He wasn’t disappointed. As soon as he entered the room, the two people standing in silence by the drink machines immediately looked up.

  “Captain,” Karliah said. She flicked her tail and blinked, looking immensely relieved. “We did not expect you to be finished so soon.”

  Zebb smiled. “Me, either.”

  “Are we cleared to leave now, sir?” Tyler Robinson asked. He looked uneasy and uncomfortable, as he always did around Zebb’s second-in-command. Karliah was the only alien in their squad, and for those who had never seen a Yulron before, she took some getting used to.

  Tyler was by far the youngest member of Zebb’s crew; at nineteen, he was still wet behind the ears, as Karliah was fond of saying whenever the cadet wasn’t in the room, but he was quick-witted and a damn near genius in the field, and Zebb was glad to have him.

  “Yes.”

  “Thank goodness,” Karliah said. Her voice was as smooth as watered silk and carried a hint of a purr. “This place is incredibly dull.”

  Tyler’s blue eyes flickered uneasily towards her. If Karliah noticed his discomfort (and of course she did, Zebb thought, she saw everything), she didn't say anything. She was used to feeling out of place amongst humans.

  There were dozens upon dozens of species of aliens, most of them more or less resembling humans. In fact, many alien races could pass as human, given the right clothing that would hide their more unusual features. But there was no mistaking a Yulron. They were feline in appearance, with long tails, flat faces, and pointed ears and fangs. They were covered with a sleek coat of fur that varied in color; Karliah’s skin was pure white, marred only by a scar that stretched across her forehead above her yellow eyes. Her uniform, unlike Zebb’s white one, was red, a mark of her rank.

  Karliah was Zebb’s second-in-command. She respected him, and he respected and liked her too; he would have no one else fighting by his side. She was fierce and trustworthy, and he was honored to count her among his friends.

  “Where’s everyone else?”

  “Back on the ship, sir, waiting for the OK to pack up and leave,” Tyler said.

  Zebb clapped the young man on the shoulder. “Let’s not leave them waiting. Come on, guys, let’s get out of here.” He paused. “And good work today. I mean it. You’ve earned some rest, both of you.”

  As they made their way down the hallway, Karliah walked beside him. She smiled, revealing her sharp teeth. “Ready to go back home?”

  “More than you know,” Zebb replied.

  Karliah’s eyes gleamed knowingly. “Helena will be glad to see you again.”

  Zebb’s heart fluttered, although his face remained impassive. “I hope so.”

  Chapter Two

  Helena took another sip of her blue fizzy drink—it was called feistwater and was a delicacy amongst some of the aliens, although they served it here on her station; it was really quite delicious—and leaned back in her seat, observing the goings-on in front of her. She was sitting on a bench in an area of the station that was a part market and part Plaza, and she liked to people-watch here. She found that she could learn all sorts of things just by observing the people around her.

  She was a strikingly beautiful young woman. Her glossy raven hair hung halfway down her back and framed her fragile, angelic face. Her eyes were an unusual shade of dark purple—the result of a rare genetic mutation, but one t
hat only added to her stunning beauty. Thick lashes framed her amethyst eyes, and her simple cotton dress clung to her shapely form, accentuating her firm breasts and her round hips.

  With her astounding beauty and kind, gentle nature, she had no problem attracting the eye of any man she wanted. But she’d never taken a man before. She was pure. She was waiting, waiting for the man—whoever he might be—who would complete her, and she would give herself up to him. It didn’t bother her that she was a virgin at twenty-four years old; on the contrary, she was proud.

  She thought about Zebb, and she smiled. He would be coming home today; her father was on the council here on Station 536, and he’d received word an hour ago that Zebb, along with his squad of soldiers, would be arriving soon. She was glad. Zebb was her oldest and dearest friend, and she was eager to see him again.

  They’d grown up together on the station, which was over 500 miles long and home to almost twenty million people. The station was divided into cities and districts, and Zebb’s family had been placed in a housing unit nearby her own. Unlike her, Zebb had been born on Earth, the human’s planet of origin. She’d never seen it, having been born and raised on the station, but Zebb had brought with him heart-wrenching tales of the state of the planet. Ravaged by war and overpopulation, many of its residents had fled, taking up residence in many of the Alliance’s space centers and allied planets.

  Zebb was four years older than her, and they didn’t have much in common, with him being a soldier and her being a councilman’s daughter, but their friendship had remained strong and untested for over fifteen years.

  She fidgeted in her seat, glancing now and again at her watch; which, apart from merely telling time, had over fifty other functions.

  She looked up. A frown worked its way across her pale, lovely face. Something was wrong.

  The people gathered in the square had fallen completely silent.

  The hair on the back of the young woman’s neck stood on end. She leapt to her feet. She didn’t know why the sudden silence unnerved her so, but at that moment terror wound its way into her heart.

  She glanced around. The guards were still at their posts, watching over the station’s citizens as they always did, but another little shiver ran down her spine as she looked at them.

  She didn’t recognize them at all. The faces underneath the uniform’s hoods were completely foreign to her. As a high-ranking woman, she knew each and every one of the guards by name.

  Alarm bells clanging in her mind, she swept her gaze along the rest of the square. There were fifty people gathered there, and there were no quick escape routes.

  Suddenly, her watch beeped. It was noon.

  As if that was the signal that they were waiting for, the guards moved. Helena opened her mouth to shout a warning, but it was too late.

  Hoarse, terrified screams and the thundering roar of gunfire echoed throughout the square even as the automatic doors leading to the rest of the station slammed down, sealing its victims inside.

  Helena threw herself to the floor, shielding her face with her hands. Terror tore through her, and she sobbed as bullets and beams of concentrated light flew around her in a lethal mixed storm.

  She lay on the floor and waited to die.

  Miraculously, after only a few moments, the gunfire ceased.

  Helena lay where she was, trembling against the cold, glossy marble floor. The choking odor of blood, burned flesh, and gunpowder filled her nose, making her stomach churn. She could hear two or three people crying, several male voices conversing quietly, and that was all.

  She slowly lifted her head. Her heart constricted as she gazed upon the carnage in front of her. She couldn’t believe it. Her mind whirled in a sea of confusion, sorrow, and terror.

  They were all dead.

  No, not all of them; three young women, whom she vaguely recognized, were being dragged, kicking and screaming, away from the gristly scene by seven uniformed men. Helena watched, wide-eyed, as one of the men caught sight of her. Motioning towards the rest of the guards, they made their way towards her with their weapons drawn.

  She wildly looked around, but there was nowhere to run, and her terror kept her locked in place on the floor as one of the men grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet.

  “Helena Murdock,” one of the men said. “What a pleasant surprise.”

  “How did you know my name?” she asked. She injected her voice with bravery that she didn’t feel. She tried to yank her arm away from the guard that held her, but his grip was like iron.

  The man pushed his hood aside. She didn’t recognize him, but his face filled her with dread all the same. There was no expression on his face whatsoever.

  “You’re coming with us,” he said.

  Chapter Three

  “Incoming transmission,” Roland announced.

  Zebb leaned back in his seat and laced his hands behind his head. “From who?”

  “Home, sir.”

  Zebb smiled. “Patch them through,” he said. Roland, the ship’s communicator, nodded and leaned forward, pressing buttons on the flashing panel.

  “How long until we get to 536?” Zebb asked, addressing the pilot.

  “Twenty minutes,” Joyce said curtly without looking back at him. She was a tough redheaded woman who possessed all the grace and charm of a dying crocodile, but she was a damn good pilot—possibly one of the best, in Zebb’s opinion.

  Zebb smiled. He thought longingly of 536. He had only the vaguest memories of his home planet; the space station was his home now.

  His thoughts turned to Helena, and a sharp pang of hopeless longing pierced his heart. Helena. She was as pale as he was dark, as kind and charitable as he was stony and hardworking; she was as different from him as night from day, and yet she was the only woman he wanted.

  But he’d never told her how he felt. She came from a rich, well-connected family, whist he’d been a refugee scraping along to survive in the deepest reaches of the galaxy. She was beautiful and pure; too pure, really, for him.

  But he was content to be her friend. Any kind of love, he’d discovered, was better than none at all.

  He lit a cigarette, pulling the smoke deep into his lungs and exhaling, filling the cockpit with a bluish haze. Joyce flashed the cigarette a disapproving look, but said nothing.

  There was a loud beep; Roland had finally succeeded in patching through to the station. A large holographic screen popped up.

  Zebb immediately tossed the cigarette into the ashtray and sat up, his eyes wide and alert. The man on the screen was pale and shaking.

  “This is Juliet Seven,” Roland said. “We’re several miles out, headed for the landing docks.”

  “Thank God,” the man said. He swallowed. “We need all the help we can get right now.”

  “I’ll take over, Roland,” Zebb said. There was a grim set to his face, and Roland obediently sprang up. Zebb slid into his empty seat. “Zebb Welsh, squad captain. What’s going on?”

  The young man on the screen rubbed his mouth wearily. A frown creased his young face. “There was a…well, I’m not exactly sure. We’re working out the details now. It just happened so fast—“

  “What happened?” Zebb cut through the man’s babbling.

  “Oh, man,” he said unhappily. “We were attacked.”

  “Attacked?” Zebb asked sharply.

  “Yeah.”

  “By who?”

  “No one knows yet.”