by Ryan Krauter
Birthright:
Battle for the Confederation
Consequence
Ryan Krauter
Copyright © 2016 by Ryan Krauter
Cover art by Ryan Krauter
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
Novels by Ryan Krauter
(hyperlinks)
Birthright Series:
Invasion
Reprisal
Crusade
Turmoil
Pursuit
Consequence
The Out of Nowhere Series: (Young Adult)
Out of Nowhere
Shadow of Doubt
The Fixer
My Own Prison (short story)
Patriot/Terrorist
Acknowledgements
As an Indie author, I’ve begun to see both reading, writing and publishing in a different light. Copyright issues, picking a favorite author, who to read next, what makes a good book cover, etc.
I’ve read some books by fellow indies and have been very impressed by the skill and vision some people have to share with us. I wonder how many books I might sell when it’s all said and done.
I write because I enjoy it, not because I want to make money off the process. If that was the case, I’d be trying spy thrillers and detective procedurals instead of the more niche market of military sci-fi.
So, these acknowledgements in the last of my original Birthright story arc are to you, the reader. Thanks for giving me a shot and trying out a new author. I hope you’ve enjoyed my story (if you’ve made it to book six, I assume you can at least tolerate my work) and the characters I’ve created.
The most rewarding point for me was when my characters started to take on their own life in the story. And by that, I mean that in the beginning I had to plot out who would say what, why they’d say it, etc. After a while, I could just start typing and the story would sort of happen. Steven King, in his book On Writing, said something similar about how he just threw some characters together in a certain situation and started writing about what happened. I’m not quite there yet, but I do see what he’s saying; I no longer decide what a character does; I just sort of let it unfold and type what the people are saying. I hope that makes sense!
I’d like to give a quick shout out to the philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche. If you’ve real all my novels, you’ll discover that almost all of them have a reference to him snuck in there somewhere. Love him or hate him, he had some interesting ideas about life and humanity. If all he does is make you think a bit about your life and decisions, then his job as philosopher has been accomplished. Go stare into the abyss, won’t you?
Anyway, thanks again. I plan to keep the Birthright universe alive, but I want to do a few stand-alone novels from here on out instead of the massive arc that a six book series requires.
Happy reading!
Dedication
As always, my work is dedicated to Krista, Colin, Chase, and Sydney.
One
CSS Avenger floated motionless, dark, her scarred hull plates and exposed internal damage a far cry from the proud and gleaming ship that had been there for the start of the war with the Primans three years ago. In a way, Avenger was a microcosm of the progression of the war. She'd started off proud, confident, ready to take the fight to the enemy. Along the way there had been fights, tough battles that had tested her and nearly left her in defeat. And now there was doubt, turmoil. Her scars could be fixed, but her crew was doubtful, unsure of their future, of the Confederation itself. What next?
"What do you have?" asked Captain Sirian Elco as he leaned over Lieutenant Caho's shoulder to see the sensor picture at her station. He could see the computer generated results on the main screen or forward holo projector, but he'd learned from long experience that it was better and more insightful to just ask her what she saw.
"Fits the bill nicely, I'd say," Caho replied as she absently sifted through the data Avenger's sensors were collecting. "And it's being pulled by a busted up old tug whose sensors couldn't tell the difference between us and a sun at this distance."
Elco stood up to his full height and clapped her once on the shoulder as he walked back towards his command chair. "Good work, then. We'll get to it."
Captain Elco sat in his chair and tried to clear his mind. He let his surroundings wash over him as he tried to reconcile what he was going to order his crew to do. He heard the scrunch of the synthetic leather of his chair. The soft hum of the environmental and cooling fans. The boot steps on the metal decking as crew shuffled back and forth attending to their work, and the muted clatter of data pads being perused and then dropped back on workstation surfaces.
Finally, figuring the best course of action was to just get on with it, he keyed the 1MC; the shipwide intercom. "Crew of Avenger, this is the Captain. There is an old saying on one of the planets we've cataloged that goes like this: may you live in interesting times. It's supposed to be a curse, that your life will be chaotic and turn out every which way but the one you want it to go. I'd say we are most assuredly living in interesting times.
"We've had a trying few weeks since our fight over Faaria. Admiral Bak and others know that there was no reason to declare Avenger rogue, but Senator Dennix did it anyway when we didn't offer to back his takeover of the Confederation. And while the admiral has done his best to keep us off the radar, here we are. We still have no way to turn things around and try to stop this war; both the one from without as well as within. Well, let me amend that. We now know what we can do to stop the Primans, and we're going to do it with or without anyone else's help.
"You see, Admiral Bak has been leaving us a trail of breadcrumbs to follow and it's paid off. So here it is, everyone; this is our mission. We are going to take the former Priman Commander, the now-Representative Velk, back to Priman space. Everyone involved believes this is our best hope for ending the war. Velk believes that his government has become corrupted and lost their direction. I think they've just gotten a taste of what politics are like in this part of the galaxy and it's obviously not for them.
"In any case, here is our mission: escort Velk to Priman space, the former Enkarran Empire. We'll help him link up with moderate elements of his own people and with any luck we can get some cooler heads on both sides of this war.
"We're going to need to make some repairs to Avenger, though. Repairs we can't just do with 3D printers and repurposed parts. We're going to need a Crusader class vessel to donate some components; namely, a hyperdrive generator, which we're going to need if we expect to make it into Priman space. We won't be attacking or firing on any Confed personnel; I know that thought concerns many of you, and that's a bridge I have not and will not cross. We're going to use some deception, and with any luck we'll be on our way to try and put a stop to this war once and for all."
Several decks below, in the XO's quarters, Loren sat composing a message for Halley Pascal. He knew she was still incommunicado on Callidor and that she was no doubt waist deep in planning how to get her and Web off-planet. He'd only received a brief communication from her after his warning to her and Web to bug out after their operation, but hadn't heard from them since. They'd retrieved the damning ring data that would brand Senator Dennix a traitor and collaborator and sent it to Loren on Avenger. She'd also apologized and admitted Web had gotten himself captured trying to create a distraction to help her escape. She vowed to stay on Callidor until she could break Web out. Knowing Halley the way he did, it would become an expensive m
ess which would cost the Primans dearly.
After forwarding the ring data to Admiral Bak and making copies and then sending them everywhere he could think of, Loren had stored the paired burner comm unit in his quarters. Now, he picked it up and activated the encryption program. He could only send short burst messages, and he kept it short and to the point. He sent a simple request to Halley asking her to send him the video of a conversation they'd once had, and as such had been captured for posterity by her nanite cloud storage.
Sarela Tarven, captain of the tug Vigorous, sat in her chair and surveyed her tiny domain. Actually, Captain was a bit of a grand title for the command she had. The tug was long and spindly, with a flight deck and living quarters on the front, grappling attachment section in the middle, and series of six engines in the rear, all capable of pivoting ten degrees off axis to aid in maneuverability. She only had a helmsman, engineer, and all-purpose deck hand to order about. She was less a captain and more a babysitter, shepherding doomed ships from arrival waypoints to the inner shipyard and their appointment with the breakers. Attrition was hammering Confed's navy, and anything that came in was carefully stripped of salvageable parts before the hull was sent coasting into the recycling furnaces. Maybe one day she would command a real warship; that's where the action was.
"Captain," called the helmsman as he investigated a flashing icon on his sensor board. She liked this young one; at least he called her 'captain'. The other two always tried to find ways to just fire off their comments without the formal address. She supposed she should lay out the discipline a bit on them, but then realized that they all wanted to just get on to their next rotation as much as she did, so she let it go. After a while, it had just became a habit.
"Yes?" she asked. She scooted forward in her seat to get a better view of his screens in the slightly too dim, green-washed colors of the bridge displays and lighting.
"We have multiple new items incoming." He pointed at the screen. "One comm signal from a Confed ship. And a separate vector..." He tried adjusting the settings but the picture only got marginally better. "I swear this is a formation of three cruiser sized ships." He turned up to look at her, a hint of fear creeping into his gaze. "The computer thinks they're Priman."
"You're up," Elco said gently to Lieutenant Caho, who nodded and squared her shoulders. She held down the 'transmit' key from where she now stood next to the communications station. "Tug Vigorous, this is Captain Deja Nect of the CSS Havoc. Do you copy?"
"You're sure Captain Nect won't hold this against me?" asked Caho of Captain Elco after she'd stopped transmitting, a guilty look crossing her face.
"We're old friends, and while I don't know which side her ship is on right now, I can confidently say that if she thought we could end this war by pretending to be her and her ship, she would approve. And since you sound so much like her, you're the lucky impostor."
"Impersonating a ship's captain; just add that to the charges against us," Loren said with a grim smile from his XO's chair as he watched, having recently arrived from C3 to take part in the next phase.
"Vigorous," Caho continued, "we've just separated from an engagement with some Priman cruisers and have suffered some damage, hence the audio only call. My apologies. However, you might notice multiple Priman warships in the area. We can distract them while you make a break for it."
There was silence from the other end of the connection.
"Is that ship throwing an IFF beacon?" asked captain Tarven.
"Yes," came the confident reply. "It's Havoc, and even our sensors can tell it's a Crusader class ship. Lots of damage, though. And there are still those Priman signals getting closer, but they've formed a pincer and are closing from three sides."
"Havoc," Tarven said into the comm pickup on her control board, "we've towing a Confed ship. We can't maneuver with her coupled to us."
"So cut her loose, Captain," came the terse reply. "You're headed to a reclamation yard, correct? That ship isn't going anywhere, and any truly top secret tech has already been removed. Let us work on the Primans so you can clear out."
Tarven stared at the fine mesh spot on the panel where the speaker was broadcasting the other captain's voice. What she said was all true, and Tarven's standing orders were to not get killed doing something stupid while protecting dead ships. Still, it wasn't that far to the yard and the safety of its heavy laser batteries and magazine-fed torpedo launchers. She paused, trying to run the numbers.
"She's trying to see if she can make it," Loren grumbled when he finally couldn't stay away any longer and paced up to the comm station.
"We can't let her delay any longer," Elco said angrily. "She comes to a stop out here and sooner or later she's going to see it's us. She makes it into the yard and we can't follow because of all the weaponry." Elco looked at Caho. "Give them the business, Lieutenant."
Caho tapped a key on the console that sent a command to a stored program back at her sensors station.
"Holy shiefah!" the helmsman yelled. Captain Tarven was glad he said it so loud because it probably covered up her own surprised yelp.
The three targets had just resolved into definite Priman heavy cruisers, energy signatures showing a build up of power that signified weapons ready to fire.
"The small matter of us not having weapons or shields should be considered, Captain," the engineer said, having been called to the bridge by Tarven a minute earlier.
"You don't say," she replied dryly.
"We're being scanned and locked by targeting systems from those Priman ships," the helmsman replied.
"Can you get me a visual on them?"
"I tried; they're too far away for a good lock and there's some sort of sensor jamming going on as well. I can't get the computer to focus on any specific point in space. It's like they're randomly skipping all over the place."
Captain Tarven knew what she had to do. She also knew what she was supposed to do. In this case, both happened to be the same course of action.
"Chief," she called to the engineer, much to his great relief, "unhook the docking claws. We're going to get out of here and let Havoc deal with the Primans."
"Vigorous is detaching from the ship," reported Loren to Elco as he looked up from his station. On the main display, the stocky tug floated upwards and away from the wrecked ship's bridge module, where it had been attached to the bigger ship. With little wasted time, it spun and accelerated away.
"Alright Havoc, they're all yours," came the voice over the speakers. "We'll check in soon. Thanks for the heads-up."
"Good luck," Caho replied without tone into her speaker, then shuffled to her station and sat down. Elco could tell in an instant something was bothering his sensors officer, so he followed.
"Not thrilled about the assignment?" Elco guessed as he sat in a vacant chair next to her.
"Not really, Captain," she replied as she glanced at him. "I don't know if I should feel good that the plan worked as well as it did, or guilty that we pulled one over on our own people."
Elco just nodded and rubbed his hands together as he rested his elbows on his knees. "I can't argue with that. What I think of, though, is that we got them out of here without them getting shot at or implicated in our business. And we now have a chance to accomplish what might be our most important mission of the entire war."
Caho just mimicked Elco's stoic nodding and concentrated on her screens. "You know what would make it a little bit better?"
"Anything I can do to help."
"Let's recover those spoofer torpedoes before they run out of fuel and disappear or self destruct. They're the only ones we have left."
Avenger maneuvered next to the derelict Crusader side by side. Avenger's starboard shuttle bay, mounted on the sublight engine assembly, was mated up to the port side shuttle bay of the other ship. The vessels were designed to be able to do just this, and in only a few minutes armored curtains had extended over the latching assemblies and an airtight seal was made. The ships were joined
.
"Alright everyone," Loren spoke in raised voice to the small crowd milling about in the small shuttle bay. Since the derelict ship was unpowered, the salvage crews wore lightweight EVA suits. "You know your jobs so there's no need for me to waste time telling you how wonderful you all are. Chief Fyr's people are first in since they have the hardest jobs to do. Everyone else get over and start shopping."
He turned and made a point of gesturing to Avenger's chief engineer, who ushered his people through the airlock and into the gloom of the darkened ship on the other end of the tunnel. Loren knew time was of the essence; he and the captain had set the clock at two hours. By that time, the tug's crew would have gotten confirmation that there was no recent battle in the area and ships would no doubt be dispatched to investigate.
Loren strode purposefully through the darkened halls of the dead ship. His flashlight beam lit up the corridors, creating a pool of light where he walked that chased the darkness away, if only for a little bit.
It felt wrong, disrespectful, as though he was walking on somebody's grave to be scouring the ship for parts. People had no doubt died onboard, and now he and his crew were picking away the remains. He hoped they'd understand; he'd tell them this was the last ditch effort to save the Confederation, from enemies outside and in.
He was far enough away from the work parties aboard that there was no noise other than his own breathing and the sound of his boots scraping on the deck, at times accompanied by the crunch of his heels grinding some sort of dirt or debris under him. The crews removing one of the hyperdrive reactors as well as however many gun emplacements as possible were best served by not restoring artificial gravity, so Loren wore reactive gravity boots. He turned up the gain on his external microphones. No shouted commands or exclamations, no tools dropping or torches hissing. Just silence. It seemed oppressive, like a pressure all around him pushing inwards. It could quite possibly drive a person crazy under the right circumstances, he realized.
