Read Starship Revenant (The Galactic Wars Book 3) for Free Online

Malik was. Anybody could hop from planet to planet. Flying through open space required little skill. Landing on a carrier was no easy task. You had to manage the transition from Zero G to full gravity flawlessly. Smacking the edge of the flight deck was generally frowned upon.
    Malik stayed on glide for the entire approach. He made a textbook landing.
    “Well, this should be… interesting,” Walker said.
    “That’s one way of putting it,” Malik replied.
    Walker petted Bailey and scratched his chin. “You stay aboard this ship. You got me, Sergeant?”
    Bailey barked.
    Walker pulled down his visor, obscuring his face.
    The Phantom stuck out like a sore thumb on the flight deck of the Korvectus . It was a stark contrast to the design of the Decluvian fighters.
    The normally elegant vessel looked like a hunk of shit. It had seen better days. Only one of the engines worked. The other had been damaged and was scorched and charred. The hull was pocked and scraped and scarred. There was no mistaking this for a diplomatic envoy.
    Things only got worse when the Phantom’s ramp lowered and the three of them stepped onto the flight deck.

10

Zoey
    E verything seemed to happen in slow motion. Harley stomped toward Zoey—his finger wrapped tight around the trigger. This was it. She was going to die in this little shit hole bar. Harley was big and drunk and dumb and out of his mind with rage. He was probably a nice guy when he wasn’t drinking. But after a few shots he was meaner than a constipated rattlesnake.
    Just as he was about to pull the trigger, Harley was knocked off his feet by a Disruptor beam. It was the last thing Zoey remembered before waking up in the Nova York City Jail.
    The NYPD didn’t screw around. They shot first and asked questions later. With a less than lethal Bösch-Hauer STN 50 Disruptor , they could do just that. The gun emitted a wide beam that could neutralize anyone within a 65° spread from the barrel. The beam would disrupt neural pathways, causing a loss of motor control and consciousness. The effects were usually temporary.
    Usually.
    Sometimes people never woke up. But that was less than 2% of cases. It was also reported that a small percentage of people never regained motor control function. But these were all deemed acceptable risks by the NYPD.
    Zoey’s head was throbbing and her extremities were still a little numb and tingling. But she could move, and that was a good thing. She was in a holding cell with 8-Ball and several other bar patrons. The NYPD had an unofficial motto: arrest them all, sort them out later.
    “Remind me never to go drinking with you,” 8-Ball said.
    “What time is it?”
    “0230.”
    Zoey’s eyes widened. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
    “Who’s going to break us out?” 8-Ball joked.
    Zoey glared at him.
    “Bryant,” a guard yelled. “Come with me.”
    Zoey stood up and walked with trepidation to the steel bars that enclosed the cell. The guard cuffed her and led her to an interrogation room. It didn’t look like she was getting out of this place anytime soon.
    After twenty minutes, a detective finally arrived. Twenty minutes was more than enough in the tiny room. Everything about it was designed to drive you crazy. It was dead silent. So quiet you could hear your pulse pounding and the blood rushing through your veins. Everything about the room was slightly askew. Just a little bit off. It was like a subtle version of a circus fun house. Nothing was at perfect 90° angles. After several hours in the room, it would make you feel uneasy and question your sanity.
    It was all designed to elicit confessions. If you keep somebody in a room long enough, ask them leading questions over and over again, exhaust them, isolate them, make them feel like they’re never going to get out, they’re likely to say anything. Zoey was familiar with interrogation tactics. It was part of her basic training to resist enemy interrogations.
    The detective sat across the