Outriders

by Ian Blackport

  “Good. Tactical, bring kinetic buffers and all defensive protocols online. Gunnery, activate primary batteries and enable targeting suites. Safety parameters disengaged.”

  “Aye, aye, ma’am.”

  “Warships detected in anticipated location, Captain,” confirmed the Sensor Chief. “One Nebula-class battlecruiser, one Scythe-class destroyer and four Gladiator-class frigates, all bearing the insignia of the Triaxus Corporation. I’m also reading three Sickle-class assault frigates and an equal number of Trident-class corvettes in Delbaethi colors.”

  Genevieve’s fingers tightened around cool metal. “Echo Flotilla.”

  “Weapons systems are coming online and warships are reorienting toward our trajectory.”

  “Communications, open a channel to the ship falsely broadcasting as the Warspite. They’ll be given one opportunity to surrender. Pray that they come to their senses and take the chance.”

  Lieutenant Yacoby stood beside Genevieve with an unreadable expression beneath a peak cap bearing one solitary silver bar. “No sign of this supposed rogue Confederacy fleet under Rear Admiral Salamanca’s command.”

  “We know they’re here,” she replied. “We only need to bait them into revealing their location. Salamanca is known for his cautious approach to strategic deployment and rarely stations himself where his adversaries might expect. He prefers spreading his forces out, with each element able to conduct its own scouting and come to the aid of allies at a moment’s notice. His fleet will be close enough to reach the Triaxus vessels if they’re threatened, but not close enough that their position will be given away. Assuming the warships under his personal command are the only ones we’ll face.”

  “You believe Salamanca isn’t alone? That there are other traitors in the navy?”

  “I wish I knew. For now we can’t assume anything.”

  Lieutenant Yacoby leaned closer and let his voice soften. “Captain, do you trust Admirals Kalawai’a and Gelashvili not to dishonor your agreement? If we draw the Confederacy warships here, we might be ensuring their destruction.”

  “I have faith in our allies to restrain their ships and crews.”

  “Confederacy vessels captained by Confederacy officers are our allies, not these Tuathans.”

  “Try to remember an unknown number of those officers may be traitors. We need to ferret them out and expose their corruption.”

  “Thousands of our comrades are being placed at risk in a rash, poorly conceived operation. Together with the Nightwatch, we’re only two vessels standing between several entire fleets. Once we commit to this trap, we’ll have no control over its outcome. I’d rather fail to punish the conspirators than watch loyal crew die defending them.”

  Genevieve tilted her head to glance at Noam, noticing anxious cracks etching his otherwise stoic features. “Your counsel is appreciated, Lieutenant, but neither warranted nor appropriate.”

  “We should not be here.”

  She lowered her voice to the barest whisper and let an icy edge creep into each word. “Don’t forget you’re currently speaking with your commanding officer and questioning her judgment. I’ve always welcomed criticism within reason, but you’re walking a line perilously close to insubordination. I suggest controlling your comments.”

  “I, uh…yes, ma’am.”

  “Return to your post, Lieutenant.” Genevieve brushed past him and approached the communications terminals. “How are we doing on that transmission?”

  “Connection achieved, Captain. The Warspite is receiving our broadcast. Whenever you’re ready, ma’am.”

  “This is Captain Genevieve Letourneau of the CSV Constellation and commander of Task Force Echelon to all Triaxus Corporation warships and those masquerading as Delbaethi vessels. You are hereby ordered to stand down and surrender unconditionally to either myself or Rear Admiral Lehua Kalawai’a of the Elathan Combined Starfleet Commission. Failure to do so will be considered a hostile act and be met with force. You have five minutes to comply.”

  “No response on any channels, ma’am,” announced the Communications Technician. “Not even an acknowledgement of your message.”

  “They have four minutes and fifty seconds to avoid conflict.”

  “Captain!” hollered the Sensor Chief. “Triaxus fleet is accelerating into attack formation and primary weapons batteries are charging. Starfighters are launching from hangar bays on the Nebula cruiser and Scythe destroyer. I count at least four squadrons forming and reaching extreme torpedo range.”

  “Damn you for forcing our hand,” Genevieve hissed.

  A console to her left illuminated and Admiral Kalawai’a appeared on one screen, his composure unflustered and imperious. “They’ve not accepted your terms for surrender, I see.”

  “I’m not certain I actually believed they would. Nothing more than hope.”

  “We’ve proposed fair terms. No matter the results today, we offered a chance for peace. They refused and left us no choice.”

  “Doesn’t make what we need to do more palatable.”

  A sympathetic smile pierced Kalawai’a’s stoic expression. “It never does, I’m afraid. Fight well, Captain.”

  “Good luck to you, Admiral.” Genevieve turned away from the screen and faced her expectant bridge crew. “Helm, lay alongside the Elathan flagship and accelerate toward the hostile forces. Instruct the Nightwatch to remain in a defensive position above our stern. Gunnery, you’re clear to engage and fire at will on all Triaxus vessels. I want anti-missile countermeasures tracking their starfighters. Flight Control, authorize our Scimitars to enter the fray and link their computers to the Sentinel. We’ll be maintaining contact with their command and using the Elathan Friend/Foe network for targeting information.”

  “Elathan warships are launching Marauder-class starfighters and Hellion-class bombers,” reported a sensor crewmember. “Two squadrons of each are assembling to starboard and awaiting our interceptors. They’re also reporting one Confederacy Stiletto interceptor is a friendly pilot.”

  “Why not? This was already destined to be the most confusing battle in living memory. Ensure all gunnery stations have updated targeting information before firing in the vicinity of Elathan vessels.”

  Bow-mounted cannons on the Elathan warships opened fire at extreme range as the opposing fleets hurtled closer. Starfighter squadrons skirmished first, each force seeking to breach the defensive screen and reach the enemy capital ships. Flaring pinpricks were visible to Genevieve’s eyes among the swarm of single-seat vessels, their weapons discharging in a mesmerizing light show grander than any witnessed during concerts and similar performances.

  “Tracking two flights of Triaxus Berserker-class starfighters on an attack trajectory with the Sentinel,” announced a sensor technician. “Torpedoes are armed and targeting the cruiser.”

  “Gunnery, offer support,” Genevieve commanded. “Instruct Nightwatch to do the same. Harass the Triaxus fighters on their approach and prevent them from launching torpedoes.”

  A calm voice drifted from the bank of sensor terminals. “Triaxus Scythe destroyer is targeting our position from a range of twenty-one thousand kilometers.”

  “Helm is directed to alter course in evasion. Gunnery is to continue targeting the nearest starfighters. Let the Elathan capital ships duel with the heavier Triaxus warships. We aren’t equipped for such a deadly confrontation.”

  A plasma barrage from diving Triaxus fighters pummeled the Constellation’s bow and their frigate shuddered in response. Kinetic buffers held against the onslaught and batteries reoriented for a countering salvo as the Berserkers swept above the hull. A tri-engine on the trailing starfighter belched flames and ignited, tumbling in fragmentary components to disappear beyond the Constellation.

  “Sensors, status update.”

  “Still no sign of the Confederacy fleet under Admiral Salamanca’s command, ma’am.”

  Genevieve paced closer to a viewport teeming with a discordant array of plasma, starfighter ef
flux trails and torpedo exhaust. “Show yourself.”

  Explosions detonated through an Elathan corvette, shredding the warship’s midsection into twisted fragments. Triaxus starfighters streaked closer and delivered the killing blow with a plasma barrage, ripping the warship into misshapen sections that tumbled in opposite directions. Elathan Marauders dived among the whirling Triaxus interceptors and ruptured two with concentrated volleys. Charred slivers glittered like a silver-white dust cloud before the myriad pieces ejected apart and Marauders plunged through the field.

  A Triaxus Gladiator frigate drifted closer to engage an Elathan warship and came under heavy fire from the Constellation’s primary batteries. Shots ripped through shielding and pierced hull plates painted black and gold, disgorging flames and molten chunks like an unstable volcanic eruption. The frigate wavered on its trajectory and keeled toward a slow death.

  “Come on,” Genevieve whispered. “You can’t let your corporate scum allies be annihilated.”

  “Captain! Contacts reverting from faster-than-light velocity at forty thousand kilometers. All Confederacy Starfleet Vessels. One Solstice-class heavy battlecruiser, three Swordfish-class light cruisers, four Harpoon-class destroyers and three Lunar-class corvettes. The Solstice is listed as the Odysseus, captained by Ilona Dvorakova and used as Rear Admiral Ludovico Salamanca’s flagship.”

  Genevieve pivoted and strode across the bridge. “Communications, establish a connection with the Odysseus. I need to speak with its traitorous admiral.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Their network is permitting the broadcast. Contacting at your station.”

  Rear Admiral Salamanca materialized on the terminal, his immaculate white uniform contrasted by scarlet epaulets on his shoulders emblazoned with two gold stars. “Captain Letourneau. My sensor personnel have informed me your warships are listed as hostile to the Triaxus forces, and that the reading is inexplicably not an error. You’d better have a damn good explanation for why you’re conspiring with known terrorists and enemies of the Confederacy.”

  “The Elathan forces are not our enemies. But you already know that, don’t you? Triaxus Corporation has instigated the Tuathan War with ample help from you and other corrupt figures in the Confederacy.”

  “You’ve lost your mind, Captain.”

  “I’ll let your bridge crew determine the verdict on my mental stability.”

  Genevieve unclasped her hands and pressed one button on the communication console, transmitting all data received from Kanaloa to the Odysseus. The screen flashed red in response, overlaid with a blinking message:

  FILE TRANSFER FAILED.

  Knitting her brow in frustration, she turned to the nearest technician. “What happened?”

  “The Odysseus CIC has flagged our vessel as hostile and is directing all antimalware and cyberwarfare firewalls at us. Nothing beyond basic ship-to-ship communications can breach their electronic defenses.”

  “Damn it all.”

  Salamanca’s thin lips parted into a smug grin. “Trouble, Captain? Or is your scheme to foment dissent unraveling?”

  Genevieve placed her hands on either side of the terminal and raised her voice. “Captain Dvorakova, if you can hear me, Admiral Salamanca is a traitor in the employ of Triaxus Corporation and holds no authority here. Whatever he told you is a lie.”

  “Ilona is a talented, loyal officer who recognizes deception when she hears it. Which is not difficult to ascertain in this instance, since the accusation comes from a captain fighting alongside our adversaries.” Salamanca leaned closer to the display and cast his venomous stare on Genevieve. “You will not divide my crew with your ludicrous allegations. Disarm and surrender into my custody or face destruction.”

  “You leave me little choice. Admiral, with all due respect afforded your rank, I have sanction to countermand your authority and assume control over your fleet. I’m transmitting my command key to you now, which won’t be hampered by your firewalls. Power down all weapons systems and await further instructions.”

  His derisive chortle cut through Genevieve like a blade. “You presume to give me orders? By whose command do you have the right to dictate to me as though I were a fawning junior officer on my first tour?”

  “A mandate granted to me by Vice Admiral Amaira Baliarsingh of the Ninth Fleet, Supreme Commander for the Tasian Sector. You, on the other hand, have no jurisdiction beyond the Neaera Sector.”

  “We aren’t in the Tasian Sector.”

  “No, which is why command for the Cessair Sector was entrusted to me. Admiral Baliarsingh invested me with full authority over any and all Confederacy warships and operatives in this theater, including the Magh Tuireadh system where we presently find ourselves. Since I’ve received no amendment to her orders, and you’ve failed to produce evidence Fleet Command has unilaterally revoked them, they remain in effect. Stand down, Admiral. I won’t tell you again.”

  Seething fury roiled within Salamanca, enflaming his forehead with pulsating veins. “You…you unqualified, meddlesome upstart! I refuse to recognize your authority, and I’m not one of Baliarsingh’s subordinates. Withdraw the remains of your pitiful task force before you lead another warship into ruin. Surrender now and you might receive leniency.”

  “I can’t do that, Admiral. Know that I feel the sincerest remorse for what I must do. Your crews are obeying the orders of their commander, and for that reason I have no choice but to open fire. I only wish you didn’t force me to do this.”

  “If you survive this confrontation, I’ll see that you’re stripped of your captaincy and dishonorably discharged. Fleet Command can decide if you deserve to face criminal charges. As for your bridge crew, the same fate awaits them for knowingly betraying their oaths.”

  “No, Admiral. The one who’ll face justice is you.” Genevieve did not allow her stare to waver from Salamanca, though tilted her head sideward. “Are you still reading me, Admiral Kalawai’a?”

  “I am,” Lehua responded from another terminal.

  “Your verdict?”

  “I believe you’ve given him more than enough of an opportunity to recognize your authority. A shame about his crew though.”

  “Then it’s time.”

  “Awaiting your word, Captain,” Kalawai’a said.

  Genevieve glanced over one shoulder at her Communications Technician. “Signal Admiral Gelashvili to enter the system.”

  “At once, ma’am.”

  Genevieve felt a ripple of satisfaction to see surprise cross Salamanca’s sneering face before the Delbaethi Navy’s Fourth Patrol Fleet exited faster-than-light in full battle formation. Twelve warships bristling with cannons, from frigates and corvettes to the mighty Wyvern-class heavy battlecruiser Dragonfire commanded by Admiral Gelashvili, closed on the Confederacy fleet and unleashed a remorseless fusillade of plasma and torpedoes.

  Salamanca whirled away from the screen to issue commands at the bridge crew. “Helm, take us—”

  The transmission ended when the Odysseus severed its connection to Genevieve’s flagship. She closed the silent channel and faced her expectant crew.

  “Intensify forward batteries,” Genevieve instructed. “The Odysseus and its allies have turned this into a battle of attrition.”

  “Ma’am, the Warspite is repositioning above our bow and targeting the Sentinel’s port side. Admiral Kalawai’a is already engaged in a duel to starboard with two Confederacy Swordfish cruisers, forcing him to bolster kinetic buffers to either side and draining their emergency power reserves.”

  “Focus primary cannons on the Warspite and redirect fire to anti-missile countermeasures as required. I want that Triaxus phantom brought down.”

  The Constellation’s weapons reoriented and bombarded the Sickle-class frigate’s underside in a dazzling detonation of flaring orange.

  “Captain,” announced one sensor crewmember, “our targeting computer has identified a weakened portion on the Warspite’s ventral hull aft of its ancillary sensor array.”


  “Gunnery, punch a damn hole straight through that opening and don’t slacken. We’re bringing down their—”

  Bewildered shouts rose from the crew when an automated voice echoed through the chamber. “Bridge security door sealing.”

  Genevieve whirled and glimpsed the reinforced doorway separating her bridge from the Combat Information Center closing, obstructing the startled faces of those beyond. “Who authorized bridge closure?”

  Lieutenant Yacoby stepped behind one marine stationed alongside the door, his hand gripping an unholstered firearm. Genevieve tried to shout a warning and desperately clawed for the sidearm strapped to her waist. The baffled marine managed only to cock her head to one side before Yacoby shoved the muzzle of his weapon against her helmet and fired, cracking through the hardened material and leaving her to topple onto flooring in a bloody ruin.

  A blistering scream scratched Genevieve’s throat raw. “No!”

  The marine opposite uttered an indiscernible roar and hefted his assault rifle at Yacoby, but gunfire tore through him instead and sent the man floundering against a wall riddled in bullets and streaked with scarlet rivulets. His body sagged into a broken, twitching heap. The third and final marine assigned to the bridge stepped beyond glowing terminals, his weapon raised and still trailing a wispy tendril of smoke. He swept his rifle toward the nearest crewmembers, who lifted jittery, empty hands skyward among cries of indignation, dread and confusion.

  Yacoby stepped over the dead marine at his feet and directed his firearm at the gunnery station. “All weapons cease firing at once.”

  Officers followed suit in anxious quiet and the Constellation’s guns fell silent.

  Genevieve clenched her fists in scarcely restrained rage, though held her position when the treacherous marine swiveled his assault rifle in her direction. “What the hell are you thinking?”

  “I tried to stop you,” Yacoby snapped. “I warned you not to do this.”

  “Drop your sidearm and I’ll consider not having you executed on the spot for murder and insubordination.”