Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue
Appendix A: The Triplanetary Confederation
Appendix B: Triplanetary Rank Structure
Appendix C: Further Reading...
AGGRESSOR
Richard Tongue
Copyright © 2016 by Richard Tongue, All Rights Reserved
First Kindle Edition: November 2016
Cover By Keith Draws
With thanks to Ellen Clarke and Rene Douville
All characters and events portrayed within this ebook are fictitious; any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Join the Triplanetary Universe Mailing List: http://eepurl.com/A9MdX
Prologue
“Come on, come on,” Cadet Susan Conway urged, tugging at the arm of her friend, guiding him away from the rest of their class. “We don't want to get tangled up with the rest of them in some boring museum, do we?”
Trying to hold her back, Cadet John Clarke frowned, and replied, “The Columbia Museum is meant to be one of the best for early interstellar spaceflight. They've got the original command deck of Atlantis, and...”
She turned to him, smiled, and said, “We only get one night's furlough at Carpenter Station, and you want to spend it wandering around a load of old artifacts?”
“I suppose the Cosmodome is also worth looking it,” he replied. “Most of the class is staying at the Museum, though.”
Shaking her head, she said, “We're not going to some holotheatre either, not tonight. They've got a better one back at the Academy, anyway.” She gestured towards an elevator at the end of the corridor, and said, “I want to go down to the Underlevel.”
Frowning, Clarke said, “Captain Rees told us to stay on the upper levels.”
“And what he doesn't know won't hurt him. You don't think we're the only ones who are going to sneak away tonight? Hell, Garcia and Stepovich booked a room at the High Hilton.”
“That's different,” he replied. “They're engaged, and even Rees isn't going to question that. Besides, everyone knows where they are in case something goes wrong and they have to be recalled for an emergency. If we head off...”
“What emergency?” she asked, shaking her head. “We're on a civilian trading post, one jump from Sol, and the only bad guys are thirty light-years from here.” Turning to him, she said, “John, I'm going down there, whether you come with me or not.”
“Alone? In that hellhole?”
Flashing a beaming smile, she said, “Come on, it'll be fun. You'll see.”
He frowned, then replied, “I was thinking about calling it an early night anyway. Get a start on revising for Tactics 101.” Looking at her, he said, “You might want to think about that as well.”
“Come on, Johnny, you're in the top ten of the...”
“You aren't though.” Shaking his head, he said, “I thought you wanted me to tutor me.”
Rolling her eyes, she replied, “I wanted you to come with me because you came top in Unarmed Combat, and you'll look nice and imposing down there. If you really want to go back to your cabin and spend your first extrasolar leave reading textbooks, you go right ahead, but I'm going to go and have some fun.” She continued towards the elevator, and with a sigh, Clarke followed her.”
“You'll be having a lot of fun if you fail that exam and get flunked out. And haven't you got to finish that paper on the Cabal War?”
“I'll have plenty of time for that on the trip home,” she said, gesturing at the elevator. “Are you coming, or are we just going to have an argument?”
He looked at the door, then said, “Fine. For a while. But we've got to get back to the ship by Twenty-Two Hundred.”
“I know, I know,” she said, impatiently, as the two of them stepped into the elevator. A scantily-clad woman was standing at the rear, who looked over Clarke as though he was a piece of meat before shaking her head. Conway smiled at her, tugging her friend's hand, and said, “Told you this would be fun.”
The elevator worked its way down though the levels, the door opening once to admit a grim-faced man wearing an ill-fitting suit, who frowned at the two cadets before the mechanism burst into life once again. Conway pulled out her datapad, flashing through the garish advertisements to find what she was looking for.
“Here,” she said, thrusting it at Clarke. “The Two For One. You can only buy the drinks two at a time down there. Frank told me about it.”
“He's as bad as you are,” Clarke said. “We can't have any alcohol. You know that. I wouldn't be surprised if they screened us when we got back.” Looking at the woman again, he said, “I knew this was a bad idea.”
“Live a little,” she said. “You want to go up with the rest of them and wander around that dull museum for another hour? There's nothing on the upper levels but a few chain stores we've got back on Mars and over-priced tourist junk. All the fun of this place is down on the Under Ring.”
The door slid open, and a twisted melange of vapors swirled in, enough to make Clarke cough, to the amusement of the woman who strutted out of the elevator into the crowd. The suited man hung back, waiting for the two cadets to leave, Conway still tugging her companion behind her.
A hundred flashing neon lights illuminated the concourse, promising to satiate the basest pleasures and whims, the occupants of the bars and clubs obviously taking full advantage of the opportunities within. Bursts of discordant music warred with each other for supremacy, and the smell of frying meat drifted through the air as they passed a barbecue bar, the patrons struggling to work their way though Waltzing Matilda, the insignia on their shoulders announcing them as members of the Ragnarok Orbital Militia.
“There it is,” Conway said, pointing towards a flashing sign, 'Two For One', the blackened windows concealing the chaos within, the only hint of what lay within the roaring music bursting through the open doors. A tall, muscle-clad figure stood at the door, arms folded, a pistol at his belt, who looked at the approaching cadets with disdain. Glancing behind her, Conway saw the suited figure following them, his eyes ranging around the concourse. Someone else sneaking down to the bar.
Panic raced across Clarke's face, and he said, “Susan, we should go back. Right now. Before we do something we both regret.”
“Relax,” she replied. “No one from the ship is down here, and even if they are, they can't exactly report us, can they? Not without betraying themselves, as well.” Looking all around her, she added, “I went to far worse places when I was a kid.”
“Yeah, well, I didn't. My folks never let me go anywhere like this.”
“Then you've got the benefit of my experience.” A smile curled across her lips, and she said, “Look, an hour or two won't hurt anything. I bet half of our class is running around down here somewhere.”
“You see any of them?” He sighed, then added, “An hour, then we go back. Deal?”
“Deal!” she said, pushing towards the door, working her way through the crowd milling around the entrance. The bouncer look
ed at the two of them for a moment, and she pulled a fifty-credit note out of her pocket, passing it to him with a knowing nod. He shook his head, stepped back, and opened the door, allowing them into the room.
The music roared from the dance floor, a hundred writhing figures moving back and forth in time with the rhythm, lights blazing down from the room, screens at the rear alternating between displays of violent color and close-up shots of the dancing couples, each one yielding a brief cheer from the onlookers at the bar.
Once more, Conway led the way, dropping into a vacant stool with Clarke tentatively moving in beside her. The barman leaned towards them, noted their uniforms, and flashed them a knowing smile.
“Wanting to show your girl a good time, kid?” he said, turning to Clarke. “I've got two Venerian Sunshines ready and waiting. Perfect to loosen you both up a little.”
“If that's alcoholic, we've got to decline,” he replied.
“You sound like my mother,” Conway said, shaking her head. “Live a little.”
“Tell me that again when we get tested at the airlock,” Clarke said. Turning to the barman, he said, “We need two drinks that won't show up on a screen. You must have something like that here.”
Nodding, the barman looked at Conway and said, “This one's a keeper, girl. Smart. I'll knock you up a Red Nova. Nice kick, and nothing in it that'll cause anyone to look twice.”
“Put a shot of vodka in mine,” Conway replied.
Clarke looked at her, and said, “You're crazy.”
“You think they'll look twice at us? We're just blowing off some steam, that's all.”
“Damn it, Susan, you're three demerits from expulsion, and I'm not even sure how many you get for reporting on board drunk, but I'm sure it's a damn sight more than that!” Clarke shook his head, and said, “Keep mine straight.” He slid a note across the counter, and said, “That should cover it.”
“Sure,” he replied, looking at Conway again. “One Red Nova straight, one boosted.” A moment later, he slid two tall glasses filled with a swirling vortex of orange, red and purple layers, a straw dropped into the top to allow them to take each element of the drink individually. Conway's was slightly different, the colors less vivid, as though the introduction of the vodka had dulled the effect. She took a quick sip, turned to Clarke, and smiled.
“That's more like it. You're sure you don't want something extra?”
Shaking his head, he took a cautious sip of his own, the rich cherry flavor hitting his tongue, laced with a trace of bitter lemon. He looked out over the dance floor, easily able to work out the professionals working the crowd, doubtless planning on extracting the contents of their partners' wallets by morning.
The suited man was still watching them, holding a shot glass in his hand, his attention switching to look away as he saw that he had been noticed, an instant too late. There was something strange in his eyes, not the predatory stare that he had have expected, more a warning glance, a brief flash of alarm that ran through his mind.
“Susan, we're getting out of here, right now,” he said, knocking his drink over the bar in his haste.
“What, this again?” she replied. “Have you...”
“We've got to get out of here now. Hurry.”
She glared at him, her face turning red, but before she could say anything, one of the dancers turned from the crowd, the glint of cold steel in her hand reflected in the lights, and he pushed with all his strength, sending Conway toppling to the ground, an instant before the gunshot cracked through the air, smashing into the monitors behind the bar, a cascade of glass raining down on the patrols as doleful sirens began to sound from outside, a discordant whine overwhelming the music still pulsing from the overhead speakers.
The crowd seemed to freeze for a split second before the frantic exodus began, a torrent of bodies rushing for the exits, the beat of the song still pounding from the speakers. Conway and Clarke, trapped on the ground, both rolled under the counter to avoid being trampled, and the suited man managed to force his way forward, racing towards them, his previous expression replaced with frantic concern as he reached inside his jacket, trying for a holster he would never reach.
Another bullet cracked through the air, and he dropped to the ground with blood spurting from his chest, a dull cry escaping his mouth as he took his last breath. Most of the crowd had found an exit now, the club all but empty, but half a dozen of the dancers had remained, all of them now armed, one of them rushing forward to the dying man, the rest charging towards the two cadet, weapons in their hands.
From the door, they heard a cry, two more figures racing in, both of them with pistols in their hands. Two more cracks brought two of the dancers down, one of them twitching in agony from a wound in her shoulder, the other clutching her leg in pain, her knuckles white around the wound. For an instant, it appeared as though their salvation had come, and Clarke raced forward to the nearest dancer, trying to summon his unarmed combat training, while Conway hung back, frozen in fear.
Three shots rang out, brutal and final, and their would-be saviors dropped to the ground, one of them managing to fire once more before dropping at the door, gasping for breath. Clarke fell with a bullet in his side, looking up at his intended target with fury, before being felled by a blow to the head, sending him slumping against the bar.
“No!” Conway said, finally moving forward, but the remaining dancers were closing on her from all sides, one of them with a gun nestled in her fist, the barrel aimed at her chest.
“Night, night, honey,” the dancer said, and with a whoosh of air, the dart slammed into her, the tranquilizer sweeping through her body. She fought to remain conscious, clawing for the door, but the effort was too great, the force of the chemicals in her blood to strong, and she finally collapsed, her eyes drifting shut. “Let's get her out of here.”
“No...”, she muttered. “No...”
Chapter 1
Lieutenant-Captain Jack Conway walked across the landing field, his respirator hissing as it sucked in oxygen from the outside air, filtering out the toxic gases in the atmosphere. Behind him, the single dome of Rutherford Colony gleamed, the sole source of light with the heavy clouds blocking out the sun, a shroud that forced a perpetual twilight.
He was picking his way through the shuttles resting on the pad, a hundred ships in various stages of decay, left here to rust. Ten years ago, this world had been a major research hub, the home of the development projects of a hundred corporations, placed here on this obscure outpost to guarantee security and secrecy. Now, most of the projects were abandoned, the laboratories silent as the personnel had scattered to the four winds.
And for some reason, last year one of the leading astrophysical researchers had decided to make this his home. He pulled out his datapad, taking another glance at the last photograph, taken eighteen months ago at the University of Ragnarok. Professor Wendell Simmons, a man who had once seemed a prospect for the Nobel Prize before deciding to go on the run.
Triplanetary Intelligence had managed to keep track of him, of course, initially suspecting that he had sold out to a foreign power. Six months surveillance appeared to have removed that possibility, and he hadn't been involved on any classified projects in any case. There were no signs of criminal connections, and he was a widower with a son living on Callisto, operating a shuttle maintenance company. No sign of trouble there.
All of that confirmed what Jack suspected already. Professor Simmons was on the run from the same enemy that had chased him across a dozen systems, a secret cabal of Triplanetary Fleet personnel seeking the solution to a ten-thousand-year-old mystery out amid the stars. And the curse of it was that they had no idea what they were looking for. An alien homeworld, lost in a great galactic war, but while that was of academic interest, he still didn't have the military connection. With luck, he'd get that in a few moments.
He picked his way over a
n old General Astronautics Starcharger, now broken in two with smaller pieces scattered across the field. Out here, space was reserved for the salvage companies, buying ships at a tiny fraction of their worth in the hopes of recouping their money by selling spare parts, or extracting valuable materials. To Jack, it was a graveyard, a last resting place for once-proud spaceships that had thundered across the heavens, and would break through the atmosphere no more.
“Churchill to Conway,” his communicator barked, and he raised it to his ear. The voice was that of his ex-wife, Lieutenant-Captain Kathryn Mallory, who by strange circumstance had ended up commanding his ship.
“I'm here. Go ahead.”
“We're picking up some activity on the fringes of the field. Nothing official, but that doesn't mean a damn thing. It's probably scavengers, but...”
“Understood,” he said. “I'll watch out.”
“I still think you should have someone with you. I can have Sullivan and an assault team ready to go in five minutes.”
“That assault team would be four technicians with small-arms training and Angel, I presume? Unless you've found some Espatiers hanging around up there?”
“Jack…” Her voice was dropping, the first warning sound of an argument about to begin.
“This is my risk, and I'll take it alone. Besides, our friend out there is less likely to bolt and run if one person approaches him. This is meant to be a covert operation, remember. Keep monitoring. Conway out.” He shook his head as he slid his communicator back into his pocket. Working with his ex-wife had proven to be exactly the trial he had expected, counterbalanced by the fact that she was one of the sharpest tacticians in the Fleet. When it had become apparent that they would be working together again, they'd hammered out an agreement. She commanded the ship, and he commanded the mission. Thus far, they had mostly kept to that, though he was realistic enough to know that they were both pushing the boundaries of their agreement, even if neither quite realized it.
Aggressor (Strike Commander Book 3) Page 1
