Starship Insurgent (The Galactic Wars Book 6)

by Tripp Ellis

The room was still hazy with smoke as the Reapers dragged Barton from the room. The apartment was in shambles. It had once been an impeccably decorated luxury high-rise. Now it looked like something out of a horror movie. The sharp smell of gunpowder filled Emma’s nostrils. It brought her back to Razurvan. Adrenaline coursed through her veins. Her solemn eyes fell on the body of Colton Hunter.

  Two Reapers bagged the body and carried him out of the apartment.

  Emma couldn't help but think of the horrible news that was going to be told to some unsuspecting parent that their son wasn't coming home.

  “You alright?” Graham asked.

  “Yeah.” Emma looked dazed. It was nothing she hadn’t seen many times before, but it never seemed to get easier.

  10

  Emma

  “Where is the next target?” Agent Graham asked.

  Several months ago Tim Barton was just an average college student. Now he was being questioned by the UIA in regards to the Hive bombing and links to the insurgent terrorist, Ragza Vin Zelcor.

  The interrogation room was dim. Acoustic foam lined the walls in square panels—each one had a different geometric pattern. The room was dead silent. So much so that you could hear your own pulse. None of the walls were at right angles. Everything was a little askew. It was partially to further dampen sound, but also to make the suspect feel uneasy.

  Tim Barton was feeling pretty uneasy at the moment. Especially with the gaping wound in his forearm. He was probably going to lose the hand if he didn't get medical attention soon. But that was all part of the UIA's bargaining power.

  “Tell us what we want to know, and we’ll see that you get adequate treatment,” Graham said. He sat across the table from Barton. Emma was sitting next to him. “There's still a chance you could get full function of the hand back."

  "I am a Federation citizen, and I demand to speak with my attorney.” Sweat was beading on his forehead, and his skin had gone pale. His shirt was soaked with perspiration. He was terrified, and in a little bit of shock. You could almost smell the fear in the room.

  “I'm afraid you're incorrect," Graham said with a little bit of a smirk. “You are an enemy combatant. That makes you a non-citizen. You don't have any rights." Graham leaned back in the chair and folded his arms and flashed a sly smile.

  “This is bullshit. You can't do this. You people murdered my girlfriend. When the rest of the Colonies find out about this, you guys are going to be in deep trouble.”

  “Newsflash. Nobody knows you're here,” Graham said. “If you don't cooperate, you're not going to get out of here. Ever. And I'll happily go on the news and tell the galaxy about how we killed two terrorists that were involved in the Hive bombing, and how we are one step closer to apprehending Ragza Vin Zelcor.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about."

  “Of course you don’t," Graham said with a healthy dose of sarcasm.

  “Were you not roommates with Jason Kaplan your freshman year in college?" Emma asked.

  “You’re seriously going to hassle me about who my roommate was in college? A random assignment in the dorm?”

  “We’ve got numerous communications between you and Kaplan as recently as the morning of the bombing,” Emma said.

  “I had nothing to do with the bombing. Kaplan acted completely on his own.”

  “In your communications with Kaplan, the two of you make some very incriminating statements,” Emma said.

  "I don't know what you're talking about.”

  Emma eyed him.

  “Even if I did say something incriminating over a comm line, hypothetically, our communications were encrypted.” Barton called her bluff.

  “You're assuming we haven't cracked the encryption,” Emma said.

  “Not in this lifetime." Barton had a smug grin on his face. “Besides, even if you could crack the encryption, we both know you can't use the database without a prior warrant."

  Emma exchanged a glance with Graham.

  "Maybe you haven't been keeping up, but you're never going to see the inside of a courtroom,” Graham said.

  Emma's eyes scanned Barton's file on her PDU. “You made three trips to Aldebaran Minor within the last year. A non-federation colony known for its terrorist ties.” She continued to look over the call logs. “Almost weekly encrypted communications over the last year, doubling in the week before the Hive bombing.” She looked up from the PDU and stared him in the eyes. "Who were you talking to?"

  “I don't recall."

  “Roughly 75 transmissions and you don’t recall?” Emma arched an eyebrow at him.

  Barton shrugged.

  “You come from a good home. You've attended the finest private learning institutions. You’ve had every advantage in life. So, tell me, how does an upper-class kid like you turn into a Federation hating terrorist?”

  "I'll say it again. I'm not a terrorist.”

  Emma glanced down to her PDU. “In college, You staged multiple protests on campus, and have openly advocated against the Federation settlement of the colonies in this sector.”

  “How arrogant you people are. You think humans are the only species that matter. This is sacred Saarkturian space. We don't belong here. And last time I checked, speaking your mind wasn’t illegal.”

  “No. But aiding an attack that killed over 40,000 people is.” Emma's nostrils flared, and her face started to flush. She took a moment to calm herself down. “Maybe you haven’t been paying attention in history class, but the Saarkturians attacked the colonies, unprovoked, and killed millions of Federation citizens during the war.”

  “Not unprovoked. We settled in their holy space.”

  Emma was getting tired of going around in circles with this guy. “We know that you helped Kaplan acquire the explosive device that destroyed the Hive.”

  “Prove it.”

  “I intend to.” Emma's eyes blazed into him.

  “Alright, I've had enough of this. I’m gonna ask you one more time, nicely. Then I'm going to resort to enhanced interrogation techniques. And I can assure you, you won't find them pleasant.” Graham was exasperated. "Where is the next attack?”

  Barton didn't say anything.

  "That's a fancy condo you live in,” Emma said, casually. “Must be expensive.”

  Barton glared at Emma.

  “According to my records, your parents pay for the apartment."

  "So what."

  "See, my boss here just wants to beat the crap out of you. I lost a lot of good friends in the Hive bombing, so I kinda want to beat the crap out of you too,” Emma confessed. “But I’m holding myself back. I’ve been meditating a lot. I’m trying to be a calmer, more peaceful person. Practice restraint. But who knows? I could snap.”

  “Trust me, you don’t want to see her angry,” Graham said.

  “I’m sure the Navy Reapers would like to get five minutes alone with you right now as well.”

  Barton swallowed hard.

  “Rest assured, I will dig through the evidence until the proof is insurmountable,” Emma said. “I’m sure you realize you’re facing murder and felony weapons charges based on the items we found in your condo alone. With the amount of weapons stockpiled, one could make a compelling case that there was intent to distribute. Since your parents are owners of the condo, it wouldn't be unimaginable to implicate them as well. While you may not care about your life and liberty, I'm sure you care about theirs. So if you don't want your parents to spend their remaining years in a jail cell, you'll start talking.”

  “You people make me sick.”

  11

  Ryan

  The house just felt different. There was an eerie stillness about it. Ryan knew something was wrong the moment he walked in from school.

  Bill Hunter was sitting on the couch, staring at the TV in a daze—but it wasn’t on.

  “What’s going on?” Ryan asked hesitantly. He saw that his dad’s eyes were red and puffy and slick with tears. The only time he’d ever seen his
father cry was when their mom had passed away.

  Bill broke from his trance and stood up. He staggered over to Ryan and gave him a big hug.

  Ryan knew what had happened without Pops having to say anything. Ryan's heart sank. His eyes welled up, and it took everything he had not to burst into tears. Ryan's throat burned.

  “He’s gone, Ryan.”

  Bill struggled not to breakdown completely. Both of them had a hard time getting words out.

  “What happened?”

  “They’re not saying much. Just that he was killed in the line of duty.” Bill’s voice finally broke as he finished the sentence. Tears began to flow.

  “Once they release the body, they’ll transfer him to the funeral home. I figure we’ll use the same place we did for your mother.” Bill was trying to occupy his mind with necessary details. Anything to mitigate the pain. “I’d like you to help me plan the service and get in touch with his friends—when you’re up to it, of course.”

  Ryan had such a lump in his throat he could barely speak. “Sure.”

  “I love you, son.”

  “I love you too, Dad.”

  “I need you to stay strong for me.”

  “I will.”

  Bill let Ryan go, stepped back, and tried to regain his composure. “Colton wouldn’t want either one of us to fall apart.”

  “I know.”

  But not falling apart was easier said than done.

  “It’s going to be okay,” Bill said. “We’re going to get through this.” He said it as much for himself as he did for Ryan.

  Ryan nodded. He sat down on the couch and his head fell in his hands. He tried to remember the last time he spoke with Colton. But he couldn’t. He just drew a blank. He had a hard time even picturing Colton in his mind. It was like he’d been erased from the Universe. Ryan felt numb.

  It was hard to say how long he sat there for. Time seemed to blur. It didn’t seem real. It was like a bad dream. Ryan felt hollow inside, gutted like a fish. He finally stood up on weak knees and staggered to his room.

  He flopped on his bed and stared at the walls. There was a poster of the movie star Sean Finn on the wall, dressed in full battle armor. It was the key art for Devastator 3, Return of the Reapers. It was one of Ryan’s favorite movies, and arguably the best of the franchise. It was about a team of Reapers that went deep into alien space to rescue Federation POWs.

  Ryan knew what he was going to do next. It was like an involuntary response. He didn’t have to think about it. The next morning, he skipped first period and stopped at the Navy Recruitment Center.

  Badass Navy recruitment posters lined the walls. Images of destroyers and carriers. Reapers in full battle gear. It made life in the Navy seem like one big action movie. Slick Hollywood style videos played on monitors—epic space battles, ground invasions, and plasma cannons.

  “Why don’t you think about this for another day?” the recruiter said.

  “No. I’ve made up my mind.”

  “Don’t get me wrong. It’s in my best interest to get you to sign your life away.”

  Chief Petty Officer Stubbs sat at his desk. There was a half eaten box of donuts on the desk, left over from breakfast, and a two liter bottle of soda. Stubbs had a round, affable face and a charming demeanor. He was everybody’s best friend once they walked in through the door. He looked like he hadn’t done a minute of PT since basic. For most prospects, he tried to sugar coat things and make the Navy seem easy. But Ryan’s situation made him a little empathetic. “You just got a heap of bad news. You probably shouldn’t be making a major life decision today.”

  “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. It’s what I want to do,” Ryan said.

  “I can give you an enlisted contract, and you can be on the bus to Biscuit as soon as you graduate. But, with your grades and aptitude, I’d go to college, or the Naval Academy, and get on the officer track.”

  “I don’t want to wait for years.”

  “Are you sure you want to be a Reaper? Biscuit is no joke. You’ve got to want it. I mean, really want it. I can tell you, when you’re out there freezing your ass off in the middle of hell week, and you haven’t slept in 96 hours, the truth is going to come out.”

  “Trust me. I can hack it,” Ryan said, determined. “It’s what I want.”

  Stubbs paused, then tried another tactic to dissuade the impetuous youth. “I’ve already met my quota for the month, so I’m just going to say it. Joining the Navy ain’t gonna bring your brother back. And if you run off and get yourself killed, what do you think that’s going to do to your parents?”

  Ryan sat a moment in silence, pondering the Chief Petty Officer’s words.

  “What were you planing on doing with your life before all of this happened?”

  “I don’t know,” Ryan shrugged “My girlfriend wants me to be a doctor. I got an offer to play pro ball.”

  The recruiter’s eyes widened. “Then what the hell are you doing here. Go play ball. They make a helluva lot more money than Reapers. And nobody shoots at them. Not to mention the other perks that come with the job.” Stubbs leaned into the desk. “Have you ever seen a pro ball player with an ugly wife?”

  Ryan smirked. “You’re really terrible at this recruiting thing, you know.”

  Stubbs chuckled. “You’re catching me on an off day. Usually, I’d have your life signed away by now.” Stubbs sighed and shook his head. “You’re not going to leave until you get a contract, are you?”

  “Nope.”

  “You have any special skills? If you can speak a foreign language, you become a lot more valuable.”

  “I’ve been studying Saarkturese for the last four years.”

  Stubbs grinned. “Impressive. Enlist now, and I can give you an enlistment bonus of 60,000 credits.”

  Ryan perked up. It seemed like a lot of money.

  “You can always mustang over later if you want to become an officer. But between you and me, you don't want to become an officer.”

  “A minute ago you were just telling me to go the officer track.”

  “I know.” Stubbs shrugged. “Don’t get me wrong. There are definitely perks to being an officer. But… you'll do three OIC deployments, then they’ll put you behind a desk. You'll be dealing with paperwork and politics. If you stay enlisted, you will be in the fight longer. Which is, I think, what you want?”

  “I want a guarantee that I’ll go to Reaper training.”

  “I can give you a Reaper Challenge Contract. If you don't make it through BSCT, you don't have to join the Navy.”

  Ryan grinned.

  “It’s the best of both worlds. If you ever decide to become an officer, you'll know what it's like to be enlisted, and you'll have their respect."

  12

  Emma

  “You’re bluffing,” Barton said.

  On her PDU, Emma pulled up a surveillance camera image of Barton’s parents in another interrogation room. She showed Barton. His eyes went wide. Then he clenched his jaw.

  “They are innocent. You can’t do this!”

  “Then tell us where the next target is,” Emma said.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Who is your contact on Aldebaran Minor?” Emma asked.

  Barton hesitated. “I want complete immunity for myself and my parents.”

  His request hung in the air for a moment.

  Emma and John exchanged a glance.

  “If your information pans out, I’ll see what I can do,” Graham said.

  “I want it in writing.”

  “You give me good intel that leads me to Ragza, you’re a free man,” Graham said.

  Barton paused for a long moment. “Aknar Suspa. At least, that’s what he said his name was. I don’t know his real name.”

  “Is he human?” Emma asked.

  “He’s part Saarkturian. He arranged the financing for the operation. You find him, he can lead you to Ragza.”

  Emma and John exchanged a look.
>
  “So, when can I get out of here?”

  “When we have Ragza in custody,” Graham said.

  The look on Barton's face was hopeless.

  Emma felt light in her seat as the VXR-7 Vantage left New Earth’s atmosphere. Her safety harness pressed against her shoulders and thighs. She returned to the Revenant with the team of Navy Reapers, minus Colton Hunter. The normally raucous platoon was sullen. Not a word was spoken among them.

  The UIA had relocated operational command to the Revenant shortly after the attacks. She had plenty of experience with shipboard life during her time in the Marine Corps, so there wasn't much of an adjustment phase. Other than re-acclimating to the cramped quarters and constant buzz of shipboard life.

  The Revenant, and the Scorpion, were the last of the Avenger class heavy destroyers built during the first Verge war. Considered obsolete by many, these battle hardened ships had endured where modern warships had failed. They just didn't build them like this anymore. But all of that was about to change.

  President Slade was committed to rebuilding the fleet with the finest warships the Navy had ever seen. One of her first actions as President was to commission the construction of a new class of destroyer and super-carrier, built with the craftsmanship and attention to detail of a bygone era.

  Emma studied her PDU as the Vantage approached the Revenant and cleared for landing. She tabbed through the pages of Aknar Suspa’s dossier. His last known image appeared on the screen. He was a bald man in his mid-50s, according to his birth date. But his appearance made it hard to tell. He was part Saarkturian, and that dominated his features. He was a big thick guy, with pale skin, though not as alabaster as the typical Verge. His eyes were dark, but still human looking, and his teeth were somewhere in between the the vicious razor like teeth of the aliens.

  He didn’t look like the friendly sort.

  “Can you believe this,” Emma said to Graham, sitting next to her. “He's worth over an estimated 4 billion credits. Amassed his wealth with a small Vilmantium mine.”