Outriders
By Ian Blackport
Copyright 2017 Ian Blackport
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Appendix – Organizations and Agencies
Appendix – Inhabited Worlds
About the Author
Chapter 1
A lifeless yellow sphere streaked with ruddy brown awaited, its blue star visible beyond the nighttime side. Dark seas of toxic brine peppered barren land and pastel coastlines, while a solitary moon the shade of burnt umber hung in orbit. Erimon was the fourth planet in the Tethra system, an uninhabited and desolate place incapable of sustaining life, with scarcely enough atmosphere to keep total vacuum at bay. Its lone artificial construct was an automated listening station prone to erroneous readings and desperately needing repairs following decades of neglect. Maintenance that would likely never come, not with the navy suffering a budget reduction thanks to a short-sighted vote in Congress.
Flight Lieutenant Clara “Moxie” Aylett guided her ElaCom-22 Marauder-class starfighter closer to the unwelcoming, forsaken world. Eleven other members of Corsair Squadron flew alongside, currently assigned to interstellar patrol within territory claimed by the Elathan Combined Starfleet Commission. An irritating posting in Clara’s mind, generally confined to empty systems not worth mentioning, much less wasting resources to police. The lone footnote recommending this region was its proximity as the closest neighbor to Elatha’s home system, situated a mere three light-years away.
Corsair Six broke the silence. “Sensors could’ve been wrong,” Trish said. “I wish I knew why Starfighter Command even bothers responding to this damn station’s reports. Shut the useless place down or give it a permanent staff so they can filter through the nonsense before involving us.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time a squadron pulled the short straw and went on a jaunt to Erimon,” Corsair Three muttered. Aleksy’s voice was tinged with bitterness even through their communication channel. “Only to learn the signal came from some malfunctioning hardware.”
“Hey Kat,” Ammar uttered. “Want to save time and tell us why an isolated listening base started screeching its fool head off? I’ll give you an extra day from my shore leave if you can get us out of here within the hour.”
Their sensors and communications specialist offered a soft hum. “I won’t know for sure until I connect to the localized network,” Katarina answered. “But I’m getting too much distortion with this one and can’t make sense of the message. It badly needs a software upgrade. Right now I feel like I’m trying to decipher a book written in some language I don’t know.”
“How long until you’re confident you can find what triggered the alarm?” inquired their squadron leader. Malcolm’s tone was gruff like always, as though he were perpetually in the process of clearing some obstruction from his throat.
“Give me another hundred thousand kilometers and I should have a strong enough signal.”
“Keep us informed.”
“Roger, One.”
Clara loosened her grip on the control stick and surveyed information scrolling on various panels within the cockpit. No communication signals were active beyond their squadron and the listening installation, no heat signatures were detected other than twelve starfighters cruising at realspace velocity, no propulsion core emissions lingered from vessels traversing the system within the last several hours. Though the sensor range of a Marauder-class starfighter was limited, all indications suggested this was another pointless chase.
A white light glowed on the screen of Clara’s sealed flight helmet, signifying someone in the squadron had opened a private channel with her. Text appeared beneath courtesy of her ship computer:
SQUADRON LEADER – MALCOLM DOHERTY.
Clara tapped a switch, muting chatter on the main frequency and communicating directly with him.
“This is Nine,” she remarked. “Go ahead, Leader.”
“Any theories on what this might be about?”
“Squadron’s instinct could be right. We’ve flown on useless missions before. They usually look a lot like this one.”
“I asked what you believed.”
Clara had to admit Elatha’s already strained relationship with the neighboring world of Delbaeth was failing at a disheartening pace. Three months earlier an Elathan national and outspoken critic of Delbaeth’s military expansion was assassinated while conducting a public speaking tour. Though he had angered local politicians in the past and his death could not conclusively be linked to Delbaeth, outraged supporters needed no evidence. An angry mob of citizens chanting his name stormed the Delbaethi embassy located in Elatha’s capital city. Soldiers opened fire on the dissidents before order could be restored, killing and wounding dozens. On Delbaeth an outraged crowd looted and vandalized businesses owned by or employing Elathan immigrants in retaliation, and no less than four innocent employees lost their lives in the violence.
Political leaders at the local and federal levels worked tirelessly to broker a peace, though many corporations on both worlds had already sworn to end all trade agreements with the other planet. Each world remained at its highest readiness level despite the deal, with their militaries mobilized and on alert, and many believed armed conflict was unavoidable. Enmity between Delbaeth and Elatha stretched back decades, which was inevitable when two stubborn, strong-willed planets shared a star and all the resources to be found in one system. Perhaps more surprising was not that Delbaeth and Elatha hated each other, but that this much time was needed for the worlds to be pushed to the brink of war.
“Tensions between us and Delbaeth are high enough to make me nervous,” Clara answered. “I can imagine their navy sending ships into our territory, if only to test us and probe our response. But why they’d choose a barren system like Tethra is beyond me. Why not any of our construction facilities and orbital stations? Why not a crucial relay satellite to cut us off from outposts and shipyards?”
“We could also be dealing with fringe groups,” Malcolm affirmed. “Like you said, this region is barren. An ideal place for outlaws and smugglers to establish a nest.”
“I don’t buy it. Any felons strong enough to be a threat aren’t idiots. Why risk loitering in our territory when there are hundreds of unclaimed, empty systems within several days’ travel? Seems unnecessary and chancy if there aren’t even any benefits here.”
“I agree. Scout ships from Delbaeth seemed more reasonable to assume, and I wanted your unbiased opinion. Thanks for confirming my suspicion.”
“That’s what I’m here for, Leader.”
“If we are dealing with elements of the Delbaethi Navy, any contact could provoke hostilities
. Keep a close eye on Ten and Twelve. I don’t want two bright-eyed kids fresh from the academy losing their nerve on a simple reconnaissance flight.”
“I won’t let either out of my sight,” Clara promised.
“No heroics from them either. It’s the young jockeys who always feel the need to prove themselves. Don’t let that crap happen.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Leader out.”
Clara flicked one switch, ending the private communication and opening her helmet’s auditory receivers to the main squadron frequency.
“—shouldn’t even worry us,” said Trish. “Waste of bloody time.”
“Like our last mission in the Cailleach system,” Hayato agreed. “A two day trip there and back, confined to our damn cockpits with nothing to eat but shitty rations, and all for what? To discover a server had crashed and started sending false positives. What a fine network we have.”
“We’ve gone over this, Eight,” answered Lieutenant Cassimento. Stephanie seemed to be her usual patient self, little different from a harried parent herding children unable to take a hint. “You too, Six. Doesn’t matter what we think of these flights. Tethra and Cailleach are our systems. We police them and keep these spacelanes safe for travelers and merchants. I won’t let our borders become open season for Delbaeth or any bandits who take a fancy to what they see.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Hayato grumbled. “Doesn’t mean I need to like it, is all I’m saying.”
“No, it doesn’t. Command does plenty of things I hate, too. But the next time you feel like whining, do me a favor and mute your headset. I’d be happy with less bellyaching.”
“You and me both,” Ammar asserted.
Katarina cut into the conversation, her crisp voice oddly bemused and uncertain. “That’s strange.”
“What is, Seven?” asked Malcolm.
“The listening station stopped transmitting data. All channels and routine transmissions have gone quiet, and I can’t access its data cache. I’m locked out.”
“What would cause that to happen?”
“Only two scenarios. A catastrophic malfunction, which is unlikely. The outpost has multiple redundancies and backup systems in the event of failure, and I should have detected an automated warning that signified critical components or programs were going offline.”
“And the other scenario?”
“Someone landed and shut it down,” Katarina replied. “If their infiltrator was skilled, I wouldn’t have detected anything from out here before the installation went dark.”
“Squadron, maintain current heading but bring weapons systems online and break into assigned flights,” Malcolm commanded. “Corsair Five, keep Flight Two on my starboard with all sensors oriented forward.”
“I copy, One,” responded Stephanie.
“Corsair Nine, take Flight Three and shadow us at a distance of two kilometers. Watch for heat signatures within range of Erimon and Orna. Our guests might be using the moon for cover.”
Clara decreased velocity and flicked her eyes to the status symbol for the other three pilots in her flight. Each was likewise decelerating and staying close behind her. “Roger that, Leader.”
She toggled another switch, keeping the squadron channel open but transmitting her spoken instructions only to the pilots in her flight. “Spooks, you’re my wing.”
“I’m with you, Nine,” Akira replied.
Her voice held a nervous edge, and Clara felt a moment of sympathy for the young pilot. Akira was barely beyond teenage years, her only flight experience in simulators and controlled training exercises. Possible unknown hostiles in an uninhabited system with no fleet support was a nerve-racking way to begin her career. She wondered if Diego felt similar apprehension. He was the least experienced pilot other than Akira, with only a few uneventful assignments under his belt. Both were given to Clara so she could mold the neophytes into combat-ready pilots, as she had done with many other recruits over the previous decade.
Clara glanced at her screen and noticed one Marauder slipping behind. “Twelve, you’re drifting too far from Eleven. Tighten up and offer him proper support.”
“I copy, Nine,” responded Diego.
“I’m detecting chatter on an unknown frequency,” Katarina reported. “It’s encrypted and heavily distorted, but definitely within a two hundred thousand kilometer range from us. We aren’t alone.”
“Can you pinpoint their location?” questioned Malcolm.
“Best guess is beyond Orna. Might be on the moon’s dark side, or nestled somewhere on its surface. They’re scrambling the signal all to hell and reducing its strength, so I can’t do better.”
“They aren’t sending a message beyond this system?”
“No, the conversation is localized,” explained Katarina. “At a distance from each other of no more than a few thousand klicks. Beyond that the signal is too unreliable to read.”
“Keep monitoring, Seven.”
“Sir, this tech is impressive. I shouldn’t have any trouble receiving communications this close to the source. This is military-grade distortion, the kind that weakens signals until they mimic the ambient electromagnetic noise of space but can still be recompiled at the endpoint. Someone is going to great lengths to keep their presence here quiet.”
“Who has access to this technology?”
“I can’t say for certain, Leader. Maybe the Confederacy?”
Ammar snorted in his condescending manner. “You really think they’d break the Treaty of Coventina and breach our borders?”
“No, but I can think of a few parties who’d be interested in buying military hardware. All it takes is one disgruntled technician who doesn’t think he’s being paid enough.” Katarina remained quiet for another moment, and Clara could well imagine wheels spinning in her mind. “When I was having trouble connecting to the outpost’s network, I said the station might need a software overhaul. But I think someone was jamming the transmission.”
“And hoped to shut it down before we arrived?” asked Malcolm.
“That’s my guess,” Katarina admitted.
“Then I’d wager they know we’re coming. Keep your eyes sharp.”
“Leader, there are two heat signatures orbiting Orna,” announced Aleksy. “Light freighter or smaller.”
“Specifications?” Malcolm questioned.
“Weapons systems offline, and emissions suggest starfighter-class or personal shuttles.”
“Corsair Squadron, remain in formation and pursue at maximum speed but do not engage.”
Clara transferred discretionary power to engines and felt a tingling sensation ripple across her chest as the Marauder’s velocity counterpoise reduced the gravity strain on her body. Their squadron cruised over the craggy terrain of Orna, its canyons and jagged precipices shaded a color that reminded Clara of blood mixed with rust. A console display to her right glowed orange to signify unknown vessels within range and revealed fleeting information that could be gathered.
The distance between their squadron and the unidentified intruders shrank until Clara could glimpse their sleek contours with her own eyes. A magnified image appeared on her tempered glass canopy, showing narrow starships with a trio of engines arranged like an inverted triangle. Two wings jutted from the fuselage on either side, with the forward wings half-length and all angled toward stern. Though hazy, the color scheme appeared to be black and gold.
“They aren’t putting much effort into fleeing,” Hayato reported.
“Anyone recognize those ships?” inquired Trish. “My computer has nothing on their class or model.”
“Never seen them before,” Ammar offered. “Pretty little things though.”
“A new starfighter Delbaeth is testing?”
“Why risk a confrontation with us when they could conduct trials in one of their own systems?”
“It wouldn’t be Delbaeth if there wasn’t a healthy dose of arrogance,” mumbled Trish.
“Doesn’t matter,” Malcol
m interrupted. “We’ll know their origin and intentions soon enough.” He opened an unencrypted channel broadcast across all spectrums and frequencies at full signal strength. “This is Corsair Squadron Leader Malcolm Doherty of the Elathan Combined Starfleet Commission to unknown craft. You are in violation of Elathan sovereign territory. Change course to heading three-one-one decimal seven by eighteen and state your intentions or we will be forced to consider you hostile.”
Clara waited for a response, monitoring her console yet hearing silence over the open channel. A lone yellow light indicated they were broadcasting and receiving on all frequencies. The amber glow seemed to mock their efforts at communicating.
“This is Corsair Squadron hailing unknown starfighters,” Malcolm announced. “Divert course away from Erimon and surrender yourselves to our custody. Non-compliance will be met with force.”
Again no response was forthcoming, and Clara felt her muscles tighten. An icy prickle slithered down her spine and anxious knots writhed in her stomach. No soldier or pilot was immune from nerves, regardless of their experience. Veterans never learned how to overcome unease, but to function despite its burden, a lesson many fresh-faced recruits failed to acquire.
“Unidentified craft, comply or be destroyed.”
Clara surveyed an endless vista of stars and nebulae beyond her viewport, an expanse that felt oppressively claustrophobic when she did not know if hostiles lurked in the blackness.
“I say again, divert course and await—”
An alarm wailed in Clara’s cockpit and red targeting crosshairs flashed to life on her screen, encircling the Marauders of Flight One. Words tumbled from her mouth on instinct as a fist closed around her throat.
“Leader, break formation—”
Malcolm dived into a whirling corkscrew and Four veered his starfighter sharply to port as ionic torpedoes trailing blue efflux emissions hurtled into Flight One. Corsairs Two and Three vanished within expanding balls of incandescent orange, their shrill cries echoing in Clara’s skull. Two green status indicators on her console flickered to gray and KIA appeared over their faces.
Red blips flooded her console, emerging from both of Orna’s polar regions and ascending to meet Corsairs trapped between the two threats.
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