by Trevor Wyatt
The Ghost Fleet
Trevor Wyatt
Pax Aeterna Press
Contents
Description
Historians Note
Also by Trevor Wyatt
The Mariner
Connect With Trevor Wyatt
Table of Contents Instruction
Prologue
1. Jeryl
2. Jeryl
3. Ashley
4. Tira
5. Jeryl
6. Jeryl
7. Ashley
8. Jeryl
9. Admiral Flynn
10. Ashley
11. Tira
12. Jeryl
13. Tira
14. Tira
15. Tira
16. Jeryl
17. Jeryl
18. Jeryl
19. Jeryl
20. Jeryl
21. Flynn
22. Ashley
23. Jeryl
24. Jeryl
25. Ashley
26. Jeryl
27. Jeryl
28. Jeryl
29. Ashley
30. Tira
31. Jeryl
32. Jeryl
33. Tira
34. Tira
35. Jeryl
36. Cassius
The Mariner
First Contact
The Omarian Gambit
Fire On The Frontline
Homefront
High Crimes
Tales From The Sonali War Vol. 1
The Pax Aeterna Universe
About the Author
The Ghost Fleet
A Pax Aeterna Novel
Copyright © 2018 by Pax Aeterna Press
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental. This work intended for adults only.
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To Marta
When the dead come calling
Who dares stand in their way?
Captain Montgomery has stopped a war,
And brokered peace for the whole galaxy.
He has saved the innocent
And stood up against injustice.
But out there in the cold,
Lurking in the emptiness of space,
Someone awaits him.
Someone with revenge in his mind.
Captain Montgomery has seen it all.
He has stared into the abyss
And lived to tell the tale.
But now…
The abyss is staring right back at him.
Historians Note
Events in this story occur in 2205, 3 years after the events of The Seeker, which concluded the Earth-Sonali war
2197
The Mariner is mysteriously destroyed. Captain Jeryl Montgomery investigates, sparking the Earth-Sonali War.
2202
The Earth-Sonali War ends.
2205
Vice-Admiral Jeryl Montgomery begins forming the Galactic Council
2207
Captain Jeryl Montgomery, demoted from his position as Vice-Admiral, returns to his position as The Seeker’s captain.
Also by Trevor Wyatt
The Pax Aeterna Universe
Call of Command Series:
First Contact
The Omarian Gambit
Fire On The Frontline
Shadow Agent Chronicles:
Homefront
High Crimes
The Mariner
See where it all started. Read The Mariner, A Pax Aeterna Prequel, for free, exclusively at this link: https://claims.instafreebie.com/free/yaoQE
Connect With Trevor Wyatt
https://www.facebook.com/trevor.wyatt.3154
Table of Contents Instruction
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Trevor Wyatt
Prologue
All of the lights were flickering.
The corridor ahead of him was covered with shadows, the red glare of the alarm lights making it look as if it was awash in blood. Still, the stranger stepped out of the airlock and half a dozen men followed after him, all of them the kind of men that shouldn’t be aboard a Terran Union Spaceship.
Hardened men, every single one of them—and there was murder in their eyes.
And they all feared him.
“HALT!” a young man in an Armada uniform shouted from the end of the corridor. His hair was plastered to his forehead, and thick beads of sweat were dripping down his face. Even though he was more than forty feet away, the stranger could see the man’s hands trembling as he tried to keep his rifle steady.
How sad was it? An Armada man, shaking in his boots like that?
Without a word, the stranger simply strolled down the corridor, making his way toward the young Armada officer. His heavy footsteps echoed throughout the corridor, and with each step he took, the young officer’s eyes seem to widen more and more.
“H-HALT!” the officer tried to repeat, his voice cracking.
The stranger could almost smell the fear, its stench coming at him like fresh blood. Stopping right in front of the officer, the muzzle of the rifle pressed tight against his chest, the stranger looked down at the young man.
“Are you afraid?” he whispered, slowly reaching for the muzzle of the rifle. He curled his fingers around it, and then made the young man raise it up. Pressing the muzzle against his forehead, he repeated his question. “Are...you...afraid?”
“N-no.”
“You should be,” was the stranger’s quick reply. With that, he swatted the rifle out of the officer’s hands, and with his open right hand, he grabbed the young man by the head and pushed him back against the wall. The moment the man’s head hit the wall, the stranger let go of him. Like an empty paper bag, the man just collapsed on the floor, his open eyes now lifeless.
The stranger carried onward silently, his group of soulless mercenaries moving right behind him. They were just seven, but other groups were already boarding the ship as well, swarming it like wasps attacking a beehive.
They made their way through the maze of corridors without meeting anyone else, their heavy boots drumming an anxious song on the floor. In the distance, they heard shots being fired and cries of agony. The stranger didn’t care if the cries he was hearing belonged to his own men or to Armada officers—in the end, all men sounded the same.
“Here they come,” one of the men behind him whispered, as loud voices seemed to come their way. Reaching inside his overcoat, the stranger grabbed a small rifle and took a knee; the moment he saw shapes moving right at the end of the corridor, he opened fire. The bright particle beams connected with their targets, and the human shapes dancing in the flickering lights stopped moving, falling onto the floor in quick succession.
The stranger slung his rifle over his shoulder as he stood up and continued his silent march across the ship. Judging by what he had seen of the plants, the CNC shouldn’t be too far ahead. Just one more turn left and…
Standing in front of the large bolted door that led to the CNC were three security officers, all of them carrying heavy particle beam rifles. They immediately put their backs against the door and raised their rifles the moment they saw the stranger’s crew.
“Lower your weapons!” one of them shouted as the stranger stopped a few feet away from them, his rifle still slung over his shoulder. Slowly, he looked at each one of the three officers, gazing straight into their eyes.
“Lower yours.”
“LOWER YOUR FUCKING WEAPONS OR I’LL—”
The officer’s words died on his throat as particle beams erupted from behind the stranger, hitting the guard straight on the face. As the man collapsed on the floor, wisps of smoke left his burnt face. The other two officers suffered the same fate—one being hit on the chest, the other on the neck.
Feeling the stench of charred meat, the stranger looked over his right shoulder at one of his men, and then nodded back at the large door. The man quickly scurried toward the door, and kneeling down, retrieved a circular device from his bag. He pressed it against the door, made sure it stuck there, and then tapped a couple of buttons. The device lit up with a bright red light, and the man rushed behind the stranger.
“Sir, you should probably take a few steps back,” the man advised, but the stranger simply kept standing in front of the door, apparently oblivious to what the man said.
Two seconds later, a concentrated explosion blew the door open, shards of metal flying everywhere as the emergency system kicked in and opened the CNC doors.
The stranger narrowed his eyes into slits as the smoke cleared. With all the patience in the world, he grabbed his laser rifle and strolled inside the CNC. By now, his other men had already reached him, and there were close to thirty men behind him.
“Captain,” the stranger started, looking around the CNC and mentally making a headcount. Finally, his gaze settled on Captain Anders of the TUS Musashi. “If it isn’t too much of an inconvenience, I’d like you, and all of your officers, to surrender your weapons to my friends here.”
“You…No, it can’t be.”
Before the captain could move, the stranger closed the distance between the two of them and put his hand around the other man’s neck. He squeezed tight, bringing the captain down to his knees, and then bent over to look him in the eyes.
“Yes, it can,” the stranger whispered, his voice almost a growl. The captain’s eyes widened in panic, and he tried to grab at the stranger’s fingers as he started running out of air. Moving slowly, the stranger removed a handgun from his belt, placed it right between the captain’s eyes, and squeezed the trigger.
Panicked cries erupted all around the CNC, but the stranger wasn’t worried. They were all novices for the most part, rookies that hadn’t been in the War, and they would never dare make a move against a crew like his—not if they valued their lives.
With his face covered in blood, the stranger looked at the cowering Armada officers and smiled.
They were right to be afraid.
Chapter 1
Jeryl
“Fire!”
Jeryl leaned forward as he gripped the armrests of his chair and shouted orders.
“Fire!” he repeated, but his voice merely echoed across the empty CNC. All lights were off, and there was no one at the control stations. The command center was bathed in a red light, and in the distance, Jeryl could hear the klaxons sounding.
He slowly stood up and made his way toward the dark viewscreen. With the tap of a button, he brought it up to life. The screen was red, filled with the same light of the command center, almost as if blood was dripping across it.
The Seeker rocked under his feet, and even though Jeryl couldn’t see it, he knew that the ship was falling apart.
“Fire!” he said once more into the darkness, his body growing cold as the ship kept on rocking. Heavy beads of sweat pooled on his forehead, and he felt his uniform sticking to his skin uncomfortably.
Then, the klaxons started to fade as Jeryl started hearing a ticking sound.
Tick, tock, tick, tock.
“For God’s sake, fire!” he pleaded—to whom, he didn't know. But there was no one to man the consoles, no one to obey his commands. Staggering, he made his way to the weapons control and pressed the operating panel over and over again. It didn’t lit up, and Jeryl knew that The Seeker was dying. Not exactly dying, but rotting.
Tick, tock, tick, tock.
In the distance, he heard the wail of a baby.
“Ashley!”
He turned on his heels and ran out of the CNC, making his way through the deserted corridors of his ship. The baby kept on crying, and the ticking sound became even faster than before.
Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock.
“Time’s running out,” he said to himself, freezing on his tracks. “Time’s running out. Time’s—”
Jeryl sat up on the bed, his body covered in cold sweat. His hair was plastered to his forehead, and the sheet covering the lower half of his body was completely drenched.
“Fuck,” he muttered, swinging his legs off the bed and running one hand through his wet hair. Glancing to the side of the bed, he felt his heart sink as he noticed the emptiness there. Ashley was already up and running, even though it was still early morning.
In silence, he dragged himself to the bathroom of his hotel suite and stepped under the shower. He stood there for a long time, allowing his thoughts to run wild. When was the last time he had had such a nightmare?
After the Earth-Sonali War ended, Jeryl had been plagued by these kinds of nightmares. They repeated themselves each and every night, and each time it happened, he woke up covered in cold sweat. But eventually they went away, as slowly, he regained control of his own mind.
But now that Ashley was pregnant, he somehow felt his control slipping away again. Could he be The Seeker’s captain and a father? Could he keep putting his life on the line, over and over again, knowing that a new life depended on him and Ashley?
“Time’s running out,” he muttered ominously. In eight months or so, he’d be holding his newborn baby and...what then?
Trying to keep all those thoughts contained inside a dark corner of his mind, he stepped out of the shower and got dressed. He inspected himself in front of the full-body mirror, and nodded when he was finally satisfied with the crisp perfection of his uniform.
“Alright. Man up, Jeryl,” he ordered himself. He held his head up high, threw his shoulders back, and stepped out of the hotel room.
The morning sun was already peeking in the horizon, painting New Washington’s skies in a pinkish tone. The hotel’s corridors were still blanketed in deep silence, making the sound of Jeryl’s uniform boots echo as he stepped on the marble floor.
The aircar was already waiting for Jeryl in the rooftop. He nodded at the pilot and then settled himself in the back. Then, he took his tablet from inside his jacket and fired it up.
A few taps on the screen and he was already checking The Seeker’s status; few more hours for the last routine checks and the ship would be ready to go. Despite the confrontation with the Udenar in Galea’s orbit, The Seeker managed to get away without any major repairs being needed. One week was more than enough for the Armada’s engineers and mechanics to make it operational again.
“Impressive ship, ain’t it?” the pilot asked Jeryl, and the captain nodded with a smile, glancing out the aircar’s window. The shipyards were in New Washington’s outskirts, a sprawling jungle of hangar decks and massive docking stations.
For a moment, Jeryl thought of the billions and billions of credits the Union had to constantly pour into the Armada’s vaults. During the Earth-Sonali War, military spending ramped up at a breakneck speed, and that trend continued ever since. No small wonder, since humanity now had other races to contend with. Even though the Galactic Council was now a reality—and that, thanks to Jeryl—the galaxy still felt rough at the edges, peace as unstable as the core of a dying star.
And with the Tyreesians moving behind the scenes constantly, that peace felt frailer than ever before.
As the aircar began its descent toward the shipyard, Jeryl’s tablet chirped.
Incoming: Admiral Flynn, his tablet rea
d.
Jeryl tapped the screen and opened his slipstream channel.
“Good morning, Captain,” the Admiral said.
Jeryl couldn’t help but notice the bags under Flynn’s bloodshot eyes. Did the man ever sleep? Despite his advancing age, it seemed like the Admiral had no intention of ever slowing down. Jeryl knew that the Armada was an all-consuming obsession for the old man.
And am I any different? he thought, his heart tightening as he thought of Ashley and the baby.
