The Aggressive (Book 1 of the Titanwar saga): A science fiction thriller

by Gem Jackson

  “Fine. Give me time.”

  “You’ve got until we get run out of here with pitchforks, doc.” She slapped the scientist on her shoulder and left her to it. As Ramachandran got to work, Tem peered at Aspen Todd, sleeping at the front of the room. He looked peaceful. She wondered what Biarritz had on him. What dirt had been dug up or threat made? She was getting close. She could feel it.

  The search returned over a thousand visitors, however, after Ramachandran narrowed it down to everyone who entered the chemical facility itself, rather than taking a shuttle around the orbital ring, the number dropped to just over a hundred.

  “How do you want these?” asked Ramachandran. They spoke in hushed tones, crouched over the terminals. The walls were covered in the same thick, dark material as the floor, giving the room a deadened, almost claustrophobic atmosphere. It was easy to see how the engineers could sleep here.

  “Put them on this data stick for me, please. I’ll review the evidence when we get back to the ship.”

  The news feed was making her anxious. She watched while Ramachandran worked. The Aggressive had opened fire on a small group of Titan security ships. That made no sense at all. Bryant wasn’t a hothead. He exuded confidence and calm authority. Even when he had broken the news about Tariq’s death to her and she had raged and shouted at him, he hadn’t come close to losing his cool. What on Earth was he trying to achieve by opening fire?

  Yet, the images were there, the Aggressive closing on the Titan vessels, a few thousand kilometres away, launching a sustained rail-gun barrage directly at them. It had fired head-on, using only its forward guns. Tem had sat through enough meals on board to know that was the smallest battery on the ship. Yet the news feed was reporting that in just three minutes, close to fifteen hundred rounds had been fired at the Titan vessels. No wonder there was panic across Titan. With a full broadside, the Aggressive could annihilate anything in its path. First it was shown from this angle, then another, then a grainy shot from a nearby merchant ship, then an even lower quality one from someone filming from the orbital ring. Each time it was the same; the Aggressive, hanging alone in the shot, spitting fire from its mouth. Then there were the talking heads. Government spokespeople, analysts, ordinary citizens going about their business. They all agreed on two things; it was time to break away from APSA and the actions of the Aggressive were akin to a declaration of war. It wouldn’t come to that, surely?

  So the feed continued, an unending stream of repetition and conjecture. Reports on local social media showed a flood of reactions with a tsunami of anti-APSA sentiment and anger directed at Earth. There was message after message of support for the Titan ships opposing the Aggressive.

  From what she could tell, the Titan fleet didn’t look up to much. Most of the ships were small. Good for hunting pirates and civil defence, maybe, but little else. The ship leading them, on the other hand, was stunning. It was a brilliant white, with a bolt of crimson flashing across the side, all smooth curves and sweeping lines. It was being called the Cronus, ‘Titan’s secret weapon’ said the anchor. Nobody spoke about where it had come from. It certainly wasn’t funded by APSA. The Titan revolution had some seriously well-funded backers, that’s for sure.

  She leaned over to Ramachandran. “We need to go. Now. Things are heating up.”

  “Okay, we’re almost done, just a few more to go.”

  The CCTV thumbnails flashed by, one by one, as they were processed.

  “Stop! What was that one?” Tem peered at the screen in disbelief. The thumbnails rolled on relentlessly.

  “There, they’re done. Which one did you want?” asked Ramachandran.

  “One of the last ones, can I flick through the last fifteen or so?”

  “I thought you said we needed to go?”

  “We do, we do, it’s just—” She didn’t finish the sentence. “There! Fuck me, it’s him.” There, on the screen, in black and white, was a slightly blurry, albeit unmistakable image of Forest McVeigh. “It’s the diplomat. McVeigh.”

  Ramachandran narrowed her eyes and craned towards the image. “You’re right. It is him. That’s not so unusual, is it? He said he was based on Titan.”

  Tem shook her head. “Pull up the records for that visit. Who is he? I’m gonna get to the bottom of this if it’s the last damn thing I do. That man is not who he says he is.”

  Ramachandran sighed and tapped away once more at the terminal. “Here we are. He signed in as a Mr Dawon Chun,” his mugshot, taken at the access panel, appeared on the screen. It was unmistakably the man who had accompanied her for the past few weeks on the Aggressive. “He’s down here as a civil servant arriving on commercial business. But that could be anything. He wouldn’t be the first diplomat to undertake the occasional job under the radar.”

  “You’re right, but it does give me an idea. Check the database for a diplomat Forest McVeigh.” Ramachandran looked like a woman close to the edge. “Then we’ll go, I promise. Just this last thing, please?”

  “Fine.”

  Tem peered over her shoulder as she checked.

  “Yes, here we are. Forest McVeigh, diplomatic guest, came on board the station almost two years ago for the opening of an expansion to the facility. I’m guessing you want an image to check?”

  Tem smiled innocently. “Only if it’s not too much trouble?”

  “There. Oh—” Whatever she was going to say got caught in her throat. The man who appeared on screen, the real Forest McVeigh, bore no resemblance whatsoever to the man they had come to know by that name.

  “I fucking knew it! I was right. There he is; small, round glasses, looks like a fucking mole. That’s Forest McVeigh.” Tem could feel the hairs standing up on the back of her neck. She couldn’t stop herself from punching the air. It felt like St Elmo’s fire was rippling along her arms and down her spine.

  “So, who the hell is the other guy?”

  Tem straightened up and exhaled slowly, reining herself in. For over a decade she had pursued this man, chasing him from one end of the Solar System to the other. This man, with his wiry hair and grey, piercing eyes, this tightly coiled spring of a man who had the blood of thousands on his hands. She knew his name and now she had his face. She leaned across the scientist and flicked back to Dawon Chun, the so-called civil servant.

  “This guy? The one who got us off Ceres? That’s the man I’ve been looking for this whole time. He is not a civil servant, he’s a terrorist for hire. His name is not Dawon Chun. It isn’t Forest McVeigh. That man’s name is Anton Biarritz.” She smiled to herself. “And now he’s mine.”

  Biarritz was the diplomat. Tem covered her face with her hands and dragged them down over her features. Ramachandran was saying something, but she wasn’t listening. All this time Biarritz was the diplomat. She cycled through the interactions they had with each other. Surely there had been clues? How had she missed them? How had she been so stupid? She had protected him on Ceres. Put herself, and others, in front of bullets to look after him. Tariq had been shot in the process. Tariq had died protecting that low-down, scum-sucking bottom-feeder.

  It just seems a bit odd, doesn’t it? The words echoed in her mind. His parting words as they stood opposite each other in the passageway. Here you are, chasing a terrorist halfway across the solar system and then your partner ends up shot twice and then killed by an invisible, undetectable condition in a hospital?

  He had been taunting her. Showboating. Did he kill Tariq?

  It just seems a bit odd, doesn’t it?

  He knew who they were the entire time. He knew they were chasing him. But why would he put himself there? He had so many chances to put distance between them. He could have left on his yacht or split when they were on Ceres. He could have bolted when they came under fire and made his own way back to the ship. Why on Earth would he stick around on the Aggressive with the two people in the solar system specifically charged with tracking him down and bring him to justice? Pride, maybe? Biarritz’s trajectory through the
criminal world suggested a certain degree of ego. She always believed that he was motivated by more than wealth. If he had wanted to become rich, a man like Biarritz would could have orchestrated wild sums of money without much fuss. Maybe professional pride—to be known as the best? In that case it made sense that he might want to get close to them, to feel the thrill of getting away with it. Yet there was something else. It didn’t explain why he stuck around on the Aggressive for so long.

  Did he kill Tariq?

  Did he want to kill both of them? He could have done. Easily. At any number of points on Ceres.

  But why did he need to get back to the ship so badly? The Aggressive… He needed the Aggressive! He needed to be on the ship when it reached Titan. She recalled the meal with the Captain after they first boarded. They had been briefed about stopping off at Ceres. Biarritz had lost it.

  We have to get to Titan. He had been very insistent about that. You won’t find anything there. That must be it. He needed to get to Titan and be on board the Aggressive. This was all part of a plan. The Enigma, Lancaster orbital, everything. The game wasn’t over; it was still in play. Biarritz was still in play.

  She felt sick.

  “Are you listening? You’re not, are you?” Ramachandran took her by the shoulders and shook hard. “We need to go. Come on detective, get your shit together.”

  She was numb where a moment before she had been exultant. Had he smiled at her after he said it? She remembered him smiling, but that could just be her imagination. Memories were so unreliable like that.

  “Yeah,” she said. “You’re right. Let’s go.” She pulled the data stick from the terminal and started towards the front of the room. After scanning the prone bodies of the engineers, tucked warmly into their sleeping bags, she located Aspen Todd. She gave him a gentle kick in what she hoped would be his midriff.

  “Hey,” she said. He opened an eye and made a noise that indicated he was listening. “We’re ready to go.”

  “Great. You know the way. Don’t forget to sign out with Stringer.” He rolled over away from them. A few others fidgeted. Tem kicked him again, though a little harder this time.

  “What the fuck? Whaddya want? Just fuck off.”

  “You need to escort us out.”

  “The hell I do.” He sat up, leaning back on his hands. “And I swear to God if you kick me one more time, I’m gonna get real pissy with you.”

  Tem flashed her ID card at him. “I tried being subtle, but there you go. I need to ask you a few questions. It would be better if we could go somewhere quiet. So get up and walk us back to our ship. Oh,” she glanced at a crumpled pile of clothing beside the engineer. “And put some goddamn trousers on this time.”

  Aspen hauled himself upright, ignoring the nearby trousers. Some of the other staff were waking up and looking towards the source of the commotion.

  “I’ll answer your questions, but I ain’t walking anywhere with you and I ain’t putting no trousers on. Now, whaddya want?”

  Half a dozen of the others were wide awake now. Some listened to the exchange between them, while others checked phones and tablets. Tem felt Ramachandran tug at her top from behind.

  “Let’s just go,” she said.

  “Fuck this.” Tem grabbed Aspen by an arm and, with a grunt, brought him to his feet. “You’re under arrest for conspiracy to commit an act of terrorism—” He pushed against her but she kept hold of him. Around them men exploded from the floor and piled into them. In an instant Tem was caught in a heaving mass of limbs and hands. Aspen punched and kicked as he was pulled away.

  “He’s a terrorist!” shouted Tem. Ramachandran yanked her backward towards the exit. Two or three men loomed between her and Aspen. “He worked with someone to fill a ship with heavy water, killing the crew.” No reaction. She addressed Aspen directly again. “You’re a murderer.”

  “Maybe he is, maybe he isn’t?” The larger of the three men in front spoke. His voice was soft but firm. His shirt bore a nametag—Pine. “I don’t know what the hell you’re doing in my plant, but you’re not taking one of my men without so much as a please and thank you.”

  “She’s APSA. They both are,” said Aspen. “Earth bitches!”

  “Is that true?” asked Pine.

  Tem shrugged. “I am. She ain’t.”

  “Well, that makes things difficult,” he held up his phone. “Because I just read that we’re at war.”

  “War?”

  “Declared about five minutes ago. Now I ain’t no soldier, and I’m not for killing anyone just ‘cos of something I read on the news. But I suggest you two should get to leaving. Right now.”

  Ramachandran yanked at her top again. She looked at Aspen. He was laughing. How much did he know? The evidence they had was good, but a co-conspirator? That would be the case. There were a lot of them standing behind Pine. Angry. Adrenaline pumping. It would be hard to take them all and keep everyone breathing at the end. That was assuming nobody else had a gun. She bit her lip and shook her head.

  “Fine.”

  With Ramachandran leading the way, Tem backed out of the room with the sound of the engineer’s laughter ringing in her ears.

  Chapter 27 – Leon

  The control room felt bare with just five of them, but Leon was impressed with how easily the work had been distributed. He was positioned in the centre, with control of the ship’s movement, Hail monitored the main sensors and ship systems, Sleet handled communications and intelligence at the spatial and combat environment boards and Torren presided over fire control with support from Birch.

  Torren, it turned out, was proving to be the most useful member of the crew aside from Leon himself. He had surprised everyone by revealing a five-year stint as a warfare officer with the Murpo spaceforce as a younger man.

  “You never told Ardbeg that,” said Sleet.

  “He never asked,” replied Torren, eyes on the terminal ahead of him. “He knew my skills. There’s only a handful of places you get training for stuff like this. I figured he was fine with it.” He paused and looked up. “He was a decent man underneath all the bullshit.”

  Sleet nodded. “He was.” She shook her head and slapped herself hard across the cheek. “Right, enough of this morbid crap. Starflight says this ship can kick the crap out of anything in its way.” They all looked in his direction. “What’s the plan?”

  He groped for a plan. The Titan fleet continued to close. The Aggressive had been decelerating in anticipation of arrival at Titan, but had maintained velocity since moving to a side-on attitude. They were still the best part of twenty thousand kilometres away. That gave them a short period of grace before they were on top of each other. Neither drone ships nor rocket-powered weapons would be an issue. The point defence systems of either ship would shred any such hardware to ribbons in short order. As always, it was the rail-guns that concerned him.

  The theory behind rail-gun batteries was one of simple brute force. He remembered the training in stellar combat 101; stealth, position, surprise. Stealth was difficult in space, but not impossible. Here, with the eyes of the solar system on them, it was a joke. Position was interesting. The Titan fleet had placed themselves broadly between the Aggressive and Titan itself, presumably to make them think twice about firing and hitting settlements on the moon. It didn’t bother Leon. They faced the orbital-lift aspect of the surface. He knew the lift ran down to the industrial factories on the surface, which meant the major settlements were on the opposing side. Then there was surprise to consider. The ideal situation would be having a target in view, from a vulnerable angle, from which a surprise barrage could be launched to maximise damage.

  When calculating a barrage there was always a balance to draw when choosing the footprint of the shots. Given that projectiles were likely to take anywhere between a few minutes and an hour to reach their target, it was important to anticipate where the target may move during that time. They could, of course, decide in move in any of the three dimensions available to th
em, with a combination of both acceleration and deceleration. This is why rail-guns were the favoured weapon of interstellar combat between capital ships; if timed correctly, it was possible to engulf an opponent in a cloud of projectiles impossible to either avoid or shoot down. Make the barrage footprint too big and the target could end up unharmed. Make it too small and they could move out of the way altogether. The trick was to cover all the areas a vessel might manoeuvre between firing and impact, while maintaining sufficient density to score debilitating hits.

  The Aggressive, for instance, had thirty-two batteries on each side of the ship. Each battery consisted of four individual rail-guns, each firing in sequence at two-second intervals. While a single battery could unleash around thirty rounds a minute, a broadside from the Aggressive using all batteries was closer to a thousand. Then there were the sabots themselves, tungsten-tipped rounds designed to split into four solid projectiles and smash through hull plating, causing explosive decompression. Leon had seen footage of their effects during training. Small vessels that took a hit from a rail-gun would appear to ‘unzip’ from the point of impact as the pressurised hull tore itself apart. Larger ships were more resistant, but not much more. A sabot penetrating the hydrogen tanks would obliterate any vessel. Then there was the damage inflicted within the ship itself; whole compartments could be blown to pieces, clouds of shrapnel would shred systems and people alike—and then there were the fires. Though the sabots contained no chemical explosives themselves—they didn’t need to—the forces involved as metal punched through metal at three thousand metres a second inevitably meant explosions and fire accompanied a hit from a rail-gun. The sabots were scary. It’s what made the Aggressive scary; a five-minute broadside could unleash twenty thousand sabot fragments upon an unwitting opponent.

  Few other ship he knew of possessed the firepower of the Aggressive. He was betting that the Cronus didn’t either. That said, it didn’t need to. If it possessed a new short-distance T-jump drive, then the tactics of capital ship encounters would be changed dramatically. It would be quite possible for them to launch a full attack on the Cronus only for it to jump out of the way just as the sabots were due to impact.