The White Fleet (Blood on the Stars Book 7)

by Jay Allan

  “Any word from the patrol?”

  “Routine status check…” Travis looked down at the readings on her screen. “…twenty-one minutes ago. The patrol has…exceeded its coverage area. They’re at the very edge of our detection range, near the innermost planet.”

  “Stockton?”

  “Yes, sir. Apparently, he reshuffled the patrol roster again and took out three of the rookie pilots.”

  Something between a snort and a laugh escaped Barron’s lips. He was more amused than annoyed at Stockton’s restlessness…and the fact that the pilot thought he was fooling anybody. “That’s the third time?”

  “Fourth, sir.”

  Barron wasn’t surprised. Jake Stockton had never been an easy officer to command, or to control. He’d have ended up booted from the service long ago, or even in the brig, save for one thing. He was that good. Stockton was one of the three or four officers who could actually lay a claim to having been individually vital to victory in the last war. The man was moody, irritable at times—and, in many ways, he was his own worst enemy—but Barron had never seen anyone else who could fly a Lightning-class fighter like the legendary Raptor.

  No, that’s not true. There was one other…

  Jovi Grachus.

  But Grachus was gone. She had died in the final battle of the war, another of those officers without whom victory would have been impossible. She had sacrificed herself to save Dauntless, opening the way for the doomed battleship to ram the pulsar and ending the chances the Union could continue the war.

  Barron shook his head as he remembered Grachus. She hadn’t been killed in the battle itself…she ran out of fuel and froze to death before the rescue ships could reach her. That didn’t make her act any less heroic in his estimation, but he knew in the strange realm of Alliance culture, dying in such a way was considered somewhat shameful. It didn’t make any sense, not to him at least, but then for all the time he’d fought at their sides, he had never come to fully understand the Palatians. Still, whatever the tenets of their culture and the somewhat mysterious “way” they all followed, it seemed terribly wrong that her last thoughts had likely been ones of shame.

  “Well, Captain Stockton was moved up pretty abruptly in his responsibilities,” Barron said finally. “I think we need to give him some room. He’ll figure out how to adapt to his new duties. And it can’t hurt morale for these new pilots to see the great Raptor flying next to them. At least they’re a lot less likely to run into any combat out here.” Barron didn’t think the fleet would see any fighting at all…unless they ran into a rogue adventurer or some ancient but still operational automated defense system. No random smuggler could pose a serious risk to the fleet, of course, though the thought of some imperial fortress still functioning under computer control gave him pause. Still, even though he didn’t expect to see any major combat, that didn’t mean the mission wasn’t dangerous. Even his war-hardened nerves were a little on edge as each transit took his people farther and farther into the unknown.

  * * *

  “That was good…you guys did well.” Stockton knew the psyche of a young fighter pilot well enough to realize that none of them saw things that way. All three of them had come at him at different angles, blasting hard. If they’d been after one of their Academy classmates, the fight would have been over in seconds…but they were chasing the fleet’s premier pilot, a veteran of most of the major battles of the war. Jake Stockton had faced off against enemy aces and packs of fighters that outnumbered him five or ten to one. He’d led desperate assault forces, including the one that knocked out the Pulsar’s power supply in the Bottleneck. Coming out on top in the impromptu exercise he’d put together for his rookies had been almost comically easy.

  He’d changed his thrust vector almost randomly, pulling his ship away from the incoming attack. Then he spun around, targeting the closest of his attackers and scoring a simulated hit the AI deemed sufficient to classify the fighter as destroyed. After that, his killer instinct kicked in. His remaining two opponents were surprised, shocked at the “death” of their comrade…and their reactions slowed. Just for an instant, but against a pilot like Jake Stockton, that was enough.

  He’d brought his ship around, firing his engines at full and coming up on his second target. His intended victim reacted, or at least tried to, burning his engines and trying to get out of Stockton’s targeting arc. But he had been too late. Stockton’s third shot was a hit, and another simulated kill.

  That had made the fight one on one, an almost absurdly easy matchup for Stockton. He had even held back his fire to give the pilot a chance to escape. But that only prolonged the exchange for another half a minute. Then, Stockton’s finger had tightened, and the trace power of his lasers had hit the target’s sensors, causing the AI to declare a third and final kill.

  “Seriously,” he added, after his despondent opponents remained silent. “I’ve been out here a lot longer than any of you…and I’ve seen things I hope none of you ever has to see. I don’t give out unearned praise. You all did very well. I’m proud of…”

  His voice stopped abruptly as his eyes caught something. His long-range scanner alarm was blinking. He reached out and punched at the controls, directing the scanning beams to converge on the signal.

  The last thing he’d expected was some kind of contact all the way out here. He punched at the keys on his panel, directing the AI to start crunching the incoming data.

  “Captain?” It was one of the pilots, Grissom, he realized after a brief delay.

  “I’m fine,” he responded, his voice a little sharper than he’d intended. “You guys just stay put for a minute.”

  He turned his attention back to the scanning data. Whatever he was reading—and he had no idea what it was, beyond a strange energy source—it was coming from the vicinity of the nearby gas giant. He’d come a long way, at least four million kilometers past the patrol’s stated range, and the planet was another few million kilometers out.

  His gut told him he had enough fuel—just—for a run out there and a quick pass to gather closer-range data. It would be tight, and nothing he wanted his young pups involved with, but he figured he could manage it.

  “I want all of you to fly back to Dauntless and land. I’ll be there soon.”

  “Captain, we can’t leave you out here, not this far from the mother ship.”

  It was Grissom again, and Stockton almost snapped at him to obey orders. But he held his tongue. The kid was right, and the regs were on his side. The almighty “book” yet again. And, something more than that. The pilot’s urge not to abandon a comrade was commendable, and Stockton didn’t want to override that.

  “All right, but I want you all to remain where you are. Decelerate to bring yourselves to a dead stop, and stay there. If any of you follow me, I swear to God, you’ll be in a space suit scraping residue off Dauntless’s hull instead of flying a fighter. Understood?”

  He got three nervous versions of “yessir,” or words to that effect. Then he glanced back at the small screen on the dashboard…and he kicked in his thrusters.

  It was probably nothing, but he was still edgy. They’d passed through nothing but long-dead systems for weeks, without a trace reading of artificial energy output.

  Until now.

  Chapter Eight

  The Promenade

  Spacer’s District

  Port Royal City, Planet Dannith, Ventica III

  315 AC

  Andi Lafarge moved down the wide stone walkway, her eyes darting back and forth at the seedy bars and cheap restaurants that lined the Promenade. There were copies of the Spacer’s District on half a dozen border planets, but none quite matched Port Royal City, for either activity or sleaziness.

  The planet, Dannith, was a hotbed of rumor about old tech. Most of the information sold in the taverns and brothels were lies, but Andi knew from experience that some nuggets of truth made their way through the heavy layer of fraud. She had found or bought—usually bought�
�more than one solid lead in these grungy holes in the wall. Most had been modest scores, broken bits of marginal equipment that were valuable enough to pay for an expedition and turn a tidy profit.

  She never thought she’d see the place again, and it troubled her slightly that it felt almost like home to her. She’d never imagined herself as a Badlands captain for the rest of her life—she’d always considered her chosen profession as the means to an end. But she couldn’t deny the relief she’d felt as she sat in the captain’s chair on Pegasus’s bridge. Her beloved ship had felt like home, and she was still struggling to explain to herself how she could possibly have been more comfortable in her cramped cabin than she’d been in the palatial villa. It didn’t make sense, and part of her wanted to deny it. She didn’t want to crave this life. But something about it felt…normal.

  One other thing that seemed right, something she hadn’t realized how much she’d missed, was the pistol slung around her waist. It hung low on the one side, just the way she liked it, and though it had been more than two years since she’d drawn it in anger, somehow, she knew she was as fast as ever.

  She wondered if Holsten had really expected to convince her when he’d come to Tellurus. The whole idea seemed absurd. She was a wealthy woman now, one who could buy virtually anything she wanted, indulge in any kind of luxury she could imagine. And yet, he’d convinced her to return to the grunge of the border, to the dark, dangerous, and sleazy world from which she’d extricated herself after years of work and struggle.

  It hadn’t even been difficult. The instant he’d put the idea in her head, he’d had her. The boredom, the frustration—the feeling of being lost that had taken her as she puttered around her giant house—had all conspired to do his job for her. She’d been determined to make a go of it in her new life, even if it drove her mad. At least until Holsten had opened another door for her, given her an excuse to escape.

  Her eyes darted back and forth, from one sign to another. Some of the establishments she remembered were still there, others had changed hands or names. She wondered how many of her old contacts were still there. She’d known a few who’d prowled Dannith’s Spacer’s District for decades, but in most cases, a career as a purveyor of Badlands rumors was a short one. Some made a killing and vanished, to a life much like the one she had just abandoned. Others ended up on the floor of one of the taverns, gunned down by some free trader’s crew he’d swindled. Even those who escaped such an end tended to get worn down quickly. The danger, the constant intrigue…they were a heavy burden that few could carry for long.

  She slipped inside the Green Star. It wasn’t bad as Spacer’s District bars went, at least not to the eyes. The floor was reasonably clean and, if things were still the same as she remembered, they didn’t water down the drinks. Not too much, at least.

  That didn’t make the place safe, and Andi knew it had seen its share of bodies hauled off after one dispute or another. She’d even watched a few of those fights. But the Green Star had also been the headquarters of one of her most reliable contacts, and she decided to seek him out first to see if he was still in business. Drake Trencher would have at least some information on any prominent leads making the rounds…and he’d probably have a good idea of any recent Sector Nine activity along the border as well.

  She scanned the room. It was early afternoon, and the place was almost empty. Most of the port’s denizens were probably still sleeping off the debauchery of the night before. But Trencher wasn’t like the others. He was a cut above, and she figured there was a chance he would be there. He owned the place, after all, though few people knew that.

  She walked toward the back, looking at the table where Trencher had held court back during her days on Dannith. The red leather-upholstered booth was empty, so she sat at a nearby table, and she waited.

  She wasn’t sure what reception she’d get, assuming he showed up at all. They’d worked together more than once, successfully, too. But Drake Trencher had never been above making an exclusive deal and then selling the information to two or three other parties…and that kind of thing had always brought out Andi’s ornery side. For all the times she had shared a good payday with him, he’d also seen the business end of her pistol more than once. She wondered which times he would remember when he set eyes on her.

  Her old confidence had come back quickly, with one small change. She’d always had her crew with her before. Having backup waiting in the wings was no guarantee of not getting shot or stabbed when a deal went bad, but it was a damned sight better than nothing. Holsten had told her to wait until he arrived before she started poking around looking for information…but then, she’d never been all that good at taking directions.

  “What’ll it be?” The Green Star was a nice place, at least in comparison to its competition along the Promenade, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t bounce her for sitting and not ordering anything.

  “I’ll have a silver ale.” She’d never been a big drinker, though doing business in the Spacer’s District usually required at least putting on a show. She’d developed a dozen ways to spill half a drink without being noticed, but it was early enough that she wouldn’t draw any attention to herself if she wasn’t pounding down double shots.

  “Coming right up.” The server was a gruff-looking man. The Green Star was famous for its women, both the scantily-clad ones serving drinks, and the even less-dressed ones waiting in the rooms upstairs. But the earliness of the day was in full force, and the normal denizens of the evening were nowhere to be seen.

  Andi watched as the waiter walked back to the table and put the mug down in front of her. He paused for a few seconds, but she just glanced up at him and said, “Run me a tab.”

  He hesitated for a few seconds, clearly concerned that he’d never seen her before and wondering if she intended to stiff him. But she watched his eyes drop to the pistol at her side, and then he just nodded and walked away.

  She sipped at the ale slowly, drinking hardly any, looking around the room. She watched a man and a woman at the bar, whispering to each other and looking her way. They were trying to appear unobtrusive, but they were failing badly. She didn’t respond or give any hint she had noticed. After all, she was there to be seen. Finding Trencher was a needless effort, at least when she could just sit there and let him find her. She had enough of a reputation on the border—even with the shroud of secrecy that surrounded her greatest find—that word of her return would spread.

  The woman slipped through a door behind the bar, and the man stepped forward, trying to look like he was wiping the counter down while his eyes darted her way every few seconds. She reached out and picked up the mug, taking another small drink. She really just wanted water, but she knew better than to order that in any spacer’s bar. Aside from the advantages of fitting in with the drinking culture so prevalent on the border, she could barely imagine the assortment of pathogens in whatever nasty-ass water ran through the Green Star’s pipes. A little alcohol was helpful as an antiseptic if nothing else.

  “Andi Lafarge…it’s been quite some time since you graced my establishment with your presence.”

  She turned her head and looked up. “How have you been, Drake?” He’d seemed to come out of nowhere, but Andi remembered the Green Star well enough to know the place had more than one unobtrusive door leading out from the back areas.

  She gestured toward the bar. “Your people have dropped off some since I was here last. They might as well have stared over here with binoculars.”

  “Well, you know how hard it is to get good help.” He put his hand on the back of the booth. “Mind if I sit?” His eyes flashed down, checking out the gun at her side.

  “It’s your place.” She waved toward the empty seat.

  He nodded and slid onto the seat opposite her. “Like I said, it’s been a long time. Rumor has it you had a big find…a retirement score.”

  “I’d wager there are rumors around here that I have two heads, Drake. You can’t believe ever
ything you hear.”

  “I don’t believe anything, Andi. You must remember that much, at least.”

  “I remember everything.” She grabbed her mug and took another drink.

  “Still, you’ve been gone for almost two years now. There must be some truth to the stories.”

  She smiled. “We did okay, Drake. A good run, better than most. Enough for one hell of a time, and I’ve still got a good amount of it tucked away. But, you know as well as I do, it takes a lot to live the lifestyle.” She was tense. It had been a long time since she’d interacted with border lowlifes like Trencher, and she was second-guessing every word that came out of her mouth. But she felt alive, too, in a way she hadn’t all those months, prowling around her villa.

  “What about your people? I haven’t seen any of them around here. I can’t remember the last time I ran into you without Vig Merrick lurking nearby.”

  She hesitated before replying. “Vig and I had…a disagreement, I’m afraid. Last I heard, he was out near the Rim. He bought a place on some two-bit agricultural planet and settled down. As far as I know, the others are all still out there burning through their bankrolls.” She looked over at Trencher and smiled. “I have more expensive tastes than most of them…and besides, I want to make damned sure I have enough to last. I don’t want to end up back here when I’m sixty, scavenging around for a score to keep me going.”

  “Well, whatever’s behind it, it’s good to have you back here, Andi. There’s nobody working Dannith now as good as you were, that’s for damned sure.”

  “Is that your way of telling me you want to work together? Because, if you’ve got any good data, I’m ready to listen.” She wondered if that had been too direct. After all, she was sitting there, without a crew, not exactly ready to blast off chasing down a hot lead.

  “I might have something in the works, Andi. Why don’t you get your act together, and then we’ll talk? You’ll need a new crew, I guess. By the time you’ve got that in place and you’re ready to go, I should have something worth talking about.” He looked across the table, locking eyes with her. “Sound good?”