God Ship (Obsidiar Fleet Book 3)

by Anthony James

  God Ship

  Obsidiar Fleet Book 3

  Anthony James

  Contents

  The Wormhole

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  © 2018 Anthony James

  All rights reserved

  The right of Anthony James to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed upon the subsequent purchaser

  Illustration © Tom Edwards

  TomEdwardsDesign.com

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  The Wormhole

  The planet Vanistar was a place of no redeeming features. It was a huge, ancient rock on the edges of the Confederation’s Hyptron sector, with thick clouds of ammonia and methane clinging to its surface like wet clothes on a drowning swimmer.

  Were any explorer keen enough to pilot a spaceship through these toxic gasses, they would find only cratered plates of unending stone riven with ice-widened fissures. There was nothing of value here, at least not in quantities sufficient to be viable. Space Corps prospectors had visited Vanistar four times, each new vessel equipped with more advanced sensor arrays than the one before and on each occasion, these hopeful prospectors had left orbit without detecting anything new or useful.

  On this day, twelve spaceships waited a few million kilometres away from Vanistar. These spaceships were unusual in design – they had large spheres of dark metal at the front and back, connected to a central frustum by comparatively slender beams. Energy forced its way through the armour of the vessels, appearing as random sparks of putrid greens and sickly blues.

  It was not only the shape of these spaceships which was unusual. Their relative positioning formed the twelve points of a dodecagon, with exactly five thousand kilometres between each point.

  Without any outward warning, the flickering webs of power coruscating on the spheres of the Vraxar Neutralisers built up in their intensity, the green steadily pushing the blue aside, until there was no variation at all. Each nullification sphere on each vessel now shone with sufficient light to illuminate an entire moon.

  In the centre of the dodecagon, an area of dark energy came into being – an amorphous shape of infinite depth a few hundred kilometres across its widest part. After a short while, a spaceship came through – a battleship from its size. The Vraxar battleship didn’t simply arrive. It was hurled into local space at an immense velocity and it travelled for several million kilometres before its onboard navigational system brought it under control.

  Another spaceship came through and then another. However, it wasn’t these smaller craft which the Neutralisers had gathered for. The output from the twelve spaceships increased again, the magnitude sufficient to rival a month’s power generation from the entire twenty-six worlds in the human Confederation. There was no air to carry a sound, but the entirety of space seemed to thrum as if in warning of what was to come.

  Something else arrived, disgorged from the Vraxar’s temporary wormhole like a vast parasite bursting free of its host body. This something utterly dwarfed any other crafted object to have flown through Confederation Space. The closest word to describe its shape was ovoid, though there was nothing pure or noble about what the Neutralisers had brought.

  Having arrived, the vessel flew on with no deviation in its course, as if it knew its precise destination.

  The Neutralisers weren’t done. The nullification spheres blazed ever brighter and the thrumming became the distressed shriek of overstressed, modified Obsidiar. The area of dark energy wavered for a moment and then expanded, growing in size until it almost filled the imaginary dodecagon.

  Whatever monstrous additional creation the Vraxar intended to drag through to this area of space didn’t arrive. Maintaining a wormhole of this size required fifty or more Neutralisers. The strain was too much and one of the Neutralisers simply exploded, creating a wave of dark flame which washed across the two closest spaceships. This was sufficient to overload their nullification spheres and they, too, exploded.

  A chain reaction followed, destroying the Neutralisers in pairs before they could break away. When it finished, only two remained from the starting twelve and these were badly damaged. The first was a smouldering mess of heat-scarred armour plating and it tumbled on an uncontrolled course which would eventually see it crash into Vanistar. The second Neutraliser made no attempt to rescue the crew from the stricken vessel. Instead, it limped away into a low lightspeed, apparently leaving the first ship to its fate.

  The Vraxar fleet didn’t have so many Neutralisers that it could dispose of them cheaply, but in this instance, the spaceships had done what was required. The gargantuan vessel was in Confederation Space and it was definitely not on a mission of peace.

  Chapter One

  Fleet Admiral John Nathan Duggan was not happy. He laboured under this emotional state so frequently that his wife was beginning to worry for both his mental and physical health. She wasn’t alone – even Duggan himself was aware that so much negative energy would eventually put him out of action and given his age, it could end up a permanent outcome. On the other hand, he was aware his family were planning a surprise celebration for his birthday in a few days and he was damn well going to be there for it with a party hat on his head and a smile on his face.

  There were several reasons for his current irritation, but the overriding cause was the number of times his many teams had used the words no luck when he’d enquired about the degrees of success on their various projects.

  The leader of one such team – a department head by the name of Shelby Timm - sat in a chair on the far side of Duggan’s desk, trying to maintain an air of positivity having delivered his unwelcome news. Duggan was all for positivity, except when it was used as a make-do polish for particularly malodorous turds.

  “A year’s additional delay is unacceptable,” Duggan said flatly. It was a tone which brooked no argument.

  “We just can’t get the efficiency up to where we need it,” said Timm. “We’re getting there.”

  “Slowly.”

  “We’ve had no luck with the prototypes.”

  There were the words again. No luck. Duggan’s eyes bored into Timm. “It’s been a year since we last saw a Vraxar warship. I had reassurances we’d have these new Obsidiar lightspeed propulsion systems fitted to the Shimmer missiles by now.”

  “You’ll have them, sir. I give you my personal assurance.”

  “Don’t treat me like a fool! The Vraxar could
appear in New Earth orbit tomorrow morning! What then for your personal assurances?”

  Timm shuffled in his chair, the cracks in his veneer of confidence unmissable. “All I’m trying to say is…”

  Duggan raised a hand to interrupt. “I know what you’re trying to say, DH Timm. I realise we’ve always been behind the curve when it comes to missile guidance and propulsion and I know how hard you’ve worked at catching up.” He sighed. “Go back to your department and see what you can do to bring forward the release of a working prototype.”

  Timm nodded gratefully at this let-off, took the presented opportunity and exited the office in four long strides.

  With his office empty, Duggan did his best to look on the bright side. After the near-total annihilation of the Vraxar fleet in the Cheops-A system a year ago, there’d been no sign of the aliens. The Obsidiar found in the crashed Estral Interstellar Astrinium had been fully salvaged and a reasonable percentage of the Confederation’s share was now making its way into the fleet’s warships, providing them with energy shields and giving them a chance to fight back against the power-draining Vraxar Neutralisers.

  For the people of Atlantis, it had been a time of incredible upheaval. The evacuation of the planet was as close to completion as could be reasonably achieved. Much of the population was waiting impatiently out in deep space on the Space Corps’ own fleet of vast Interstellars, whilst others had already been relocated to other Confederation worlds. It was a logistical nightmare, though one which had so far proceeded with few disasters.

  Meanwhile, the Confederation Council had shown remarkable understanding towards the rebellious worlds Roban and Liventor. For their part, the councils of these worlds had agreed to extensive open-ended talks. Duggan was moderately surprised the offer of talks had been so readily accepted, especially in the circumstances of the entire Confederation being in a state of total war. Personal taxes were near enough a thing of the past but during periods of strife, there were numerous mechanisms in place to compel citizens with certain skillsets to work in research labs, shipyards, weapons factories and so on. The people of Roban and Liventor were just beginning to discover that it was possible for a working day to extend beyond four hours.

  So, the political distractions were currently in hand and the Space Corps fleet was strengthening day by day, with new warships coming from the yards with uplifting regularity. It wouldn’t be enough, of course, even with the Human-Ghast alliance working out as well as it was. The Vraxar couldn’t produce offspring and they could only sustain their existence by killing and converting the other species they found. The aliens had no choice other than to keep coming and coming until one side was utterly defeated. The Vraxar didn’t care about their losses – they could rebuild their numbers from the bodies of those they vanquished.

  Duggan swore under his breath at the thought, his bad mood returning.

  “I have been made aware of a high-priority internal memo between two personnel on Monitoring Station Delta,” said the disembodied voice of his personal assistant Cerys. The tone sounded more feminine than normal and Duggan wondered if the computer behind it was trying to put him at ease.

  “What have you found?” he asked.

  Cerys was able to monitor most communications within the Space Corps and it occasionally unearthed a gem before the personnel involved were able to escalate their findings up through the chain of command.

  “A Lieutenant Lorene Fox has requested a second opinion on an anomaly she has detected on a planet far out in Hyptron.”

  “Does she mention what sort of anomaly?”

  “She describes an object which is potentially metallic in origin. The planet in question – Vanistar – has an atmosphere of a type known to produce false readings.”

  “Has Lieutenant Fox obtained her second opinion?”

  “Not yet, Admiral.”

  Cerys was designed to be as human as possible and would sometimes only drip-feed information in order to encourage a more natural conversation. It could be a mildly frustrating experience on the occasions when Duggan would have preferred to have all the details provided up front.

  “Are there any Space Corps vessels due to fly through Vanistar’s solar system?”

  “There is nothing scheduled, though we have warships within striking distance. I have checked the Helius flight database we share with the Ghasts and they have no warships within four days’ travel of the area.”

  Duggan rubbed his cheek in thought. It was unlikely to be anything which needed his immediate attention. On the other hand, he had a few minutes spare before he was required elsewhere.

  “Who is in charge of Monitoring Station Delta?”

  “Captain Sherry Brock is the most senior officer currently onboard.”

  “She’s about to receive a surprise. Get me a channel.”

  “Connection established.”

  Captain Brock did indeed give every impression of being greatly surprised, if not completely shocked, when she realised it was Fleet Admiral Duggan who had forced open a direct channel to her console.

  “Fleet Admiral,” she stammered.

  “Good morning, Captain Brock. My assistant tells me one of your officers has detected an anomaly on a planet called Vanistar.”

  “Yes, sir. She advised me verbally and I have a second experienced comms officer double-checking the initial findings.”

  “I would very much like to hear the outcome.”

  “Yes, sir, I will send over the results…”

  “By which I mean I would like to hear the outcome immediately.”

  “Yes, of course. One moment, sir.”

  Through the comms link, Duggan heard a series of shouted orders on the monitoring station, followed by rapid footsteps and a noise which might have been that of a cup falling onto a metal floor. He waited.

  Captain Brock returned. “It’s definitely a metal object, sir. We can’t provide you with an estimate of the size owing to the atmospheric interference.”

  “It’s not likely to be small, is it?”

  “No, sir. It won’t be small.”

  “Is there any chance it could be a natural occurrence?”

  “No chance whatsoever.”

  “Thank you, Captain Brock. Keep two of your sensor arrays trained directly on the object and see if you can find anything more about it. Send the information directly to my assistant.”

  “Yes, sir. The rotation of the planet will take the target object out of sight in the next hour.”

  “Do what you can. Over.”

  Duggan ended the connection. A coldness gripped his body – for a man who unsuccessfully tried not to believe in anything scientifically unprovable such as hunches, he was finding it hard to ignore the feeling that this sighting on Vanistar heralded the beginning of something terrible.

  “The Vraxar,” he said, spitting the words out.

  “What action would you like me to take, Fleet Admiral?” said Cerys.

  “Send out a fleet-wide notification - I want every warship on high alert. Send a message to each Admiral telling them about the findings.”

  Cerys was nothing if not efficient. “Done,” it said, less than a second later and with a near-imperceptible note of satisfaction.

  “Which is the closest warship we have to Vanistar?”

  “The Galactic class ES Abyss is twelve hours away.”

  “Captain Blake’s ship. He’s getting into the habit of being in the right place at the right time. Can you reach him?”

  “They are not travelling at lightspeed; therefore a direct comms channel is available,” Cerys confirmed.

  “Patch me through.”

  If Captain Charlie Blake was anything like as surprised as Captain Sherry Brock, he hid it well.

  “Hello, sir,” he said.

  “I’ve got a job for you, Captain Blake.”

  “I’m all ears, sir. It’s been a little slow out here on patrol.”

  “What makes you think there’s going to be some actio
n?”

  “There always is. Whenever I speak to you, it means something has either happened or it’s about to happen in the near future.”

  “I’ll try to be less predictable in future,” said Duggan. “I need you to do something for me. You should be receiving the coordinates of a new destination – it’s a planet out in the back of beyond. The staff on Monitoring Station Delta have identified a metal object which shouldn’t be there. It isn’t ours and it isn’t Ghast, so I’d like you to fill in the gaps.”

  “Am I to expect a hostile response?”

  “I think you know the answer to that one.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “The chances are, it’s Vraxar. Take a look and report back. We need intel and I’d also prefer it if you kept the ES Abyss in one piece – it’s one of our more powerful warships and I don’t want it confined to a repair dock for the next six months.”

  “I’ll do my best, sir.”

  “Good – now get on your way. You will be aware of the urgency on this one.”

  With Captain Blake gone, Duggan turned his attention to the other matters scheduled for his day. Since it appeared certain the Vraxar had returned, he was obliged to cancel numerous smaller claims on his time, including a few catch-up drinks with his old friend Frank Chainer. He felt guilty but Frank would understand.

  Having freed up five hours of his day, Duggan set about creating a new schedule – one which would ensure his most senior staff were fully briefed about what he wanted from them. He recalled a few of the most outlying fleet warships, diverting them towards the populated worlds in Hyptron and then he spoke to the New Earth Tucson base commander to emphasise the criticality of the building and refitting work underway on the facility.