by Gwynn White
There was a lot to do still. His work had only begun.
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The End
The Alcatraz Coup is a prequel
set 100 years before the steampunk neo-noir series
the Red Dog Conspiracy.
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Buy The Jacq of Spades: Part 1 of the Red Dog Conspiracy
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www.jacqofspades.com
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About the Author
Patricia Loofbourrow is a writer, gardener, artist, musician, poet, wildcrafter, and married mother of three who loves power tools, dancing, genetics, and anything to do with outer space. She also has an M.D. Heinlein would be proud.
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Leaving Sol
MD Cooper
The World Of Aeon 14
For the seasoned science fiction reader, there will be little here which they have not seen in another story be it planetary rings, nano technology, AI, or mind-to-mind communication.
However, for those who may not know what a HUD is, understand the properties of deuterium, or be able to name the stars within the Sirius system, I encourage you to visit www.aeon14.com to read the primer, glossary, and timelines.
To get the latest news and access to free novellas and short stories, sign up on the Aeon 14 mailing list: http://eepurl.com/b2GQj9.
About Leaving Sol
Leaving Sol follows Joseph Evans as he undertakes a mission on the edges of the Sol System. It introduces you to the world of Aeon 14, where humanity has filled the Sol System and has begun spreading across the stars.
At the end of this story is a link to get Outsystem, the first novel of the Intrepid Saga, a best-selling science fiction epic, free.
1
Churn and Burn
STELLAR DATE: 3223493 / 07.11.4113 (Adjusted Gregorian)
LOCATION: TSS Normandy
REGION: Near Makemake, Scattered Worlds, Sol Space Federation
The carrier was rigged for silent running.
There were no emissions, the engines were cold and the ship was slowly drifting down toward the stellar disk. Captain Ygres didn’t like it one bit. Didn’t like the orders, didn’t like the secrecy, didn’t like the destination.
Not one bit.
She surveyed the bridge, noting how well the crew hid their boredom. The last few months had been a flurry of activity; getting all the fighters ready, all the weapons systems primed while offline, and all the Marine transports ready to deploy—all without emitting one more rad or photon than necessary. But now…now it was the embodiment of the space force’s favorite catch-phrase: hurry up and wait.
The TSS Normandy had departed from Ceres seven months ago. As far as anyone—other than she and the XO—knew, they had been on their way to join up with the seventh fleet near Venus for maneuvers. Only the Normandy had accelerated past the seventh and entered into a polar orbit around Sol.
The crew got curious, but the captain wasn’t offering explanations, so they made do with their own gossip.
Only it wasn’t an orbit. They used the pass by Sol for a gravity assist, what the vacuum jocks called a slingshot. The carrier broke away from Sol at a quarter of the speed of light; impossible to spot unless you were looking for them.
That’s when the crew started to worry, scared shitless in some cases. Banking off the star at a quarter the speed of light was an outsystem vector. Warships didn’t go outsystem, there was no point. She knew some of the comments whispered when she wasn’t around, some likely questioned her sanity; but Lieutenant Colonel Arkon, her XO, had words with anyone who spread the smallest rumor about their captain.
Sometimes it bothered her a bit; it felt like they trusted him more than her. But she knew that wasn’t it; it was the XO’s job to stop the captain from doing something stupid. Since he wasn’t stopping her, that meant she was acting under orders…however, any experienced corpsman knew that following orders didn’t mean they weren’t doing something stupid.
Ygres presented perfect calm to the crew. They had to know she was solid and dependable.
Even if she thought the orders were shit. Why, of all the ships flitting about the Sol System did they have to pick hers for this mad mission?
She shook her head and looked at the countdown to deceleration that had been on her HUD for weeks.
Fifteen hours.
Fifteen mind numbing hours.
By now the crew had figured out what was going on. She hadn’t told them. Arkon hadn’t told them. But they knew. Anyone in the corps could read the stars, a few peeks out a porthole and you’d know where the ship was heading.
The scattered disk.
More specifically, Makemake, capital of the Scattered Worlds.
The crew also knew what it meant when the Federation sent one of their most powerful warships to park on the doorstep of one of its member nations. No one said it—no one needed to.
She remembered what the news feeds had contained before they had left Ceres. The Scattered Worlds had elected a new parliament and they were doing more than making noises about leaving the Sol Space Federation, they were going to vote on it.
Damn fools. What would they do if they weren’t a part of the Federation? And could they even legally secede? No one knew for sure, and the Normandy was on its way to make certain no one would find out either.
She looked around the bridge one last time before retreating to her ready room. Despite her best efforts, the crew was picking up on her tension and anxiety, no need to have their captain looming over their shoulders, adding to their stress.
Normally, Commander Joseph Evans couldn’t care less about the politics of an engagement—he believed that it was best for there to be no politics on board a starship. But this was different. They were all but sneaking up on a Federation capital world. Hell, there was no almost about it; they were sneaking up on a Federation capital world.
“Fuck, Evans, you look like someone mashed your favorite fighter into the deck.”
Joe looked up from his table in the junior officer’s mess to see Tiny Sue walking toward him with an overloaded tray of food in hand. One thing about Tiny, nothing could affect her appetite. He had witnessed her wolf down some of the most unpalatable things mere minutes before getting into her fighter. Attacking a capital world? Apparently it was the signal for a feast.
“Something like that,” Joe replied solemnly.
“You need to lighten up,” Sue said as her tray clattered to the table and she flipped a chair around before settling into it.
The plas squeaked in protest as the large woman settled into it. She had taken his wasp out once; screwed up every single one of his adjustments and settings with her massive self. You’d think she could have the courtesy to put the seat back when she was done—figuratively speaking, of course. Fighters had cocoons, not seats.
She wasn’t overweight—no one was, especially not in the corps. Her mother had been a wrestler or something…one of those gladiators, and Tiny was to be her scion. Tiny wasn’t interested. She wanted to fly in the black, not entertain people in some ring.
Joe smiled at the thought, Tiny in a ring fighting some poor man. He would have paid to see that. Of course he really didn’t need to. On more than one occasion Tiny had obliged his curiosity by smashing a hapless lower rating through some piece of furniture. The sailor on the receiving end of her aggression may not have even needed to do anything to piss her off either, Tiny didn’t really look for reasons when it came to smashing people.
It was probably one of the reasons she was still just a lieutenant, despite her ten years on Joe in the service. Her behavior also tended to cut down on her friend quotient, but for some reason Joe had never been on the receiving end of her ire.
�
�You know our velocity. We’re still at 0.002c,” Joe said in response to her comment about his demeanor.
“So?”
“So you know what that means. We’re gonna churn and burn Makemake.”
“Damn straight we are.” Tiny grinned around a mouthful of food. “Gonna be one hell of a show too. The Diskers are going to wake up to our beautiful fireworks.”
“It’s going to suck Jove’s balls, is what it’s going to do.”
“Well, there will be what… a 30g burn when we dump down on their heads? I guess that’s a bit rough.” Tiny looked quizzical for a moment, before taking a long drink of her beer.
Joe sighed. It wasn’t the 30g deceleration that bothered him; it was what it would mean. From Makemake’s perspective they would see a shadow on scan for a moment, and then a new star would explode over their world as the Normandy ignited all of its fusion engines and antimatter boosters to dump its velocity in the matter of an hour.
The deceleration alone would be an incredible show of force. The energy from the Normandy’s engines was equal to half the firepower of the entire Scattered Worlds Space Force.
It took a hell of a lot of energy to slow an eight-billion-ton carrier down from over three million kilometers per hour.
“I swear, Tiny, does anything touch you? That’s a Federation capital world we’re going to scare shitless. And we’re going to be in fighters, blasting their asses out of the black.”
Tiny looked puzzled. “Of course we are, commander, it’s what we do.”
Her logic was impeccable; it was what they did. Joe grabbed Tiny’s second beer, eased back into his chair, and took a deep breath.
“Well then, here’s to us doing the scaring.” He flashed a roguish grin, even though he didn’t feel a bit of it.
Tiny raised her beer and they knocked the two bottles together. “To fragging their asses first, commander.”
Dump was in nine hours and Joe couldn’t sleep a wink. Maybe he wasn’t cut out for this anymore. Maybe the Federation was going too far and the TSF was its stooge. Maybe this was what the Jovians had been waiting for; to get their vaunted Jovian Space Force made the Federation’s official military.
Joe gave a rueful smile. What would InnerSol do with a million warships and the smallest section of stellar space to patrol? Probably attack the Jovians.
Joe rolled onto his side. He knew this was no way to think on the eve of battle. This was the sort of thinking that got pilots killed. He wasn’t that sort of pilot. It was no fluke that he had achieved the rank of commander in thirty short years. That was no mean feat in a space force where the average career could span centuries.
People would rely on him to be clear headed and sharp tomorrow. His pilots needed him to lead.
He wasn’t going to let this get to him.
Joe flipped onto his back and concentrated on his breathing, clearing his mind and gently pushing his body into a sleep cycle. Time enough for worry tomorrow. Everything would look better with a good night’s sleep under his belt.
At least he hoped it would.
2
A Light in the Dark
STELLAR DATE: 3223494 / 07.12.4113 (Adjusted Gregorian)
LOCATION: TSS Normandy
REGION: Makemake, Scattered Worlds, Sol Space Federation
“Sir! I have passive responses on something coming past our outer sentinels.”
The watch commander strode to the scan officer’s side, his brow furrowed as he examined the readings. The woman was right. Something was there.
“Active scan. I want to know what the hell that is.”
The scan officer instructed the sentinels to ping the object and the watch commander drummed his fingers on the back of scan’s chair while they waited for the sentinels to probe the disturbance and report back.
“Positive response!” The scan called out loudly, though the watch commander was right behind her. She threw the data onto the main holo tank. “It’s a ship…it has to be a ship.”
“Better be a ship.” The commander scowled at the data. Whatever the object was, it was heading straight for Makemake. “If that’s a rock, we all need to make peace with our gods.”
The comm tech stared at the holos, mouth agape. “Even if it is a ship, it’s going too fast. There’s no way it can stop in time! Look at that v!”
“It’s a ship.” The commander’s brow was furrowed. “Comm. Alert the admiralty. The TSF is here. Gestalt, I want full combat readiness, condition four.”
He activated a screen and set it to display the area of Makemake’s night sky whose darkness cloaked the approaching vessel.
“We’ll know before long if I’m right.”
As if on command, a star exploded on the screen. An incredible display raged, too bright to look at, too bright to even discern its edges. The watch commander stepped into the hall and peered down the corridor. At either end, a blinding light shone through the plas, brighter even than daylight from the world’s artificial sun.
He stepped back into the room where one of his team sat shaking with tears running down his face.
“Sweet goddess…” he whispered. “That’s right overhead; it’s going to burn us to a cinder!”
“I doubt it…” the commander said. “Scan, confirm that they are directing their wash.”
“Aye.” The officer sent more pings and searched for grav disturbances. “You’re correct, sir. They are using a magnetic field to twist the wash into empty space. It’s passing about a hundred thousand kilometers over our north pole.”
“How considerate of them,” comm’s tone was dry.
“I imagine it’s bad press to wipe out a capital world.” The commander turned back to scan. “Any chance you can see who it is?”
“No, sir. It’s like a war is going on up there. All I can tell is that there was a pinprick and then a star. Whatever it is, it has to have some huge engines.”
“Has to be a carrier,” comm said. “Only a Terran carrier could shed that much v that fast—and even then, only a short list.”
“Get me that short list.” The commander wanted to be ready when the admiralty got on the horn.
“Sir,” Comm said. “I have the admiralty.”
The watch commander took a deep breath and signaled for comm to pass the admiralty to his Link.
The watch room faded around him and he appeared in a virtual space surrounded by the admiralty. It was the middle of the night, but each of the four men and women looked perfectly awake and cognizant—at least their avatars did.
“Commander Erikson, the alert packet contains information about a space-borne object heading toward us?” The speaker was Admiral Jeavons.
Always crisp, never a hint of emotion showing on her face, Admiral Jeavons was the Fleet Admiral of the entire Scattered Worlds military.
Erickson always felt a little nervous in her mental presence.
“I suspect it is a ship; night appears to have turned to day outside my window.” Admiral Urdon’s tone held no concern whatsoever. He could have been reciting what he planned to eat for breakfast.
“We have confirmation that it is a ship,” Commander Erikson supplied. “Our data indicates that it is a TSF carrier. They’re also directing their wash, so they aren’t going to damage the planet at all; it’s just a show for us.”
“Hell of a show,” Admiral Booth grunted.
“This isn’t unexpected,” Admiral Jeavons said. “We always knew it was a possibility that the Terrans would use their military to keep us in the Federation.”
The commander didn’t speak as the admiralty quickly discussed the best course of action. In the end, they opted for both feigned ignorance and aggression.
“Commander, inform the 71st long-range fighter squadron that they are to launch and escort the carrier in. We will ready a communication packet for the Terrans, welcoming them and requesting the details of their visit,” Jeavons said to him after the admiralty
reached a conclusion.
“Yes, sirs.” The commander saluted and signed off.
“Comm, Link me up with Colonel Smythe. I need the 71st on their ladders five minutes ago.”
“Is this for real?” the scan officer asked. “Is the TSF really going to use force to keep us in the Federation?”
“Looks like it is. I guess negotiations have broken down more than we were led to believe,” the watch commander replied.
Joe was in the black.
It should have been true black this far from the tiny pinprick of light that was Sol, but with Makemake’s artificial sun glaring balefully on the far side of the planet, and the light from the Normandy’s own engines lighting up the world below, it was brighter than many InnerSol deployments.
He reviewed the 52nd squadron’s arrangement, making sure all the angles and approaches to the carrier were covered. It was highly unlikely that the Scattered Worlds Space Force would make any aggressive moves—but then he wouldn’t have expected to be baking a Federation capital world under the glare of the Normandy’s engines, either.
Joe nodded with satisfaction in his fighter’s cocoon as the pilot corrected his ship’s course.
Joe pulled up the visual and nodded, this was the SDSF’s expected response.
The approaching ships were rapier-class long-range fighters, some of the best in the Sol System, and the SWSF’s favorite tool when it came to protecting their domain. While formidable, the rapier class fighters were no match for the Wasps his squadron flew, though scan showed over four-hundred of the ships were closing in on the Normandy—more than enough to cause a problem.
