Back aboard the carrier, Kaileen’s terminal chirped as an unknown signature winked into existence. She tapped the screen, resolving the contact until it stuck. Long range radar had something, but couldn’t identify the object at this distance. Couldn’t be them, she thought. Intel says we can barely track the aliens with our systems. Her pulse quickened all the same.
“Kilo, this is overwatch. Come in.”
“Overwatch, Kilo. Go ahead.”Dunham let his mind drift to the bottle of Belgian ale he had stashed in his quarters. He’d never needed a beer more. It was breaking seven different regulations, including a federal statute against alcohol on a military vessel. Still, the worst that could happen would be a few days in the brig. Last time he’d been down there, Chief Petty Officer Harrison had taught him a dozen new dirty jokes and lost a hundred credits in a game of poker.
Kaileen reset the radar and gave it a moment to refresh. The same unidentified objects appeared. Kaileen pulled at her hair, concerned but certain of needed to happen. She opened the channel to Kilo and waited for the tone.“Kilo, this is Overwatch. You have neighbors in your yard, quadrant 921, sector 113. Identify and report. How copy?”She waited while the pilot confirmed with his own radar before responding.
Frank looked down at his screen, finding it clear.“Overwatch, are you sure that’s a good read?”Suddenly a small green dot popped into existence, just on the far side of the planet.“Check that, Overwatch, I have contact on approach. We’re low on fuel, so this is going to be a quick peek.”
“Roger, good hunting. Overwatch out.”
- III -
New Freeman, the capital of Tallus, covered almost an entire continent. The arid planet stored most of its water underground, only supporting one meager ocean and a few dozen rivers. This kept the temperature aboveground warm and dry, perfect for the scientific communities that called the rock their home. Natives often found it hard to take other atmospheres if they ever vacationed, so accustomed had they become to the vapor-free air. Tourism, on the other hand, was almost nonexistent.
Most Terrans forgot that Tallus, not New Eden, had been the first colonized planet. Though farther out in the galaxy, the orange planet had been the savior of the International Space Commission’s catastrophic Odyssey voyage. Launched over 150 years before, Odyssey used Strider technology to race for new horizons. Only five days in, the massive ship inadvertently entered Blue Space while passing by the asteroid Vesta. Dragged millions of kilometers off course, Odyssey found itself floating in the center of a strange and otherworldly formation of gas giants.
Concerned with repairing the extensive damage the ship had taken in the blue tunnel, the captain of the voyage brought them down on a new, golden planet. Landing near the only source of water, the scientist aboard were baffled to discover how similar the atmosphere was to Earth’s own. Days later, the crew emerged from their battered boat and stepped foot on alien soil. Not knowing how far from home they truly were, the crew began their mission in earnest, building a small settlement and starting experiments on the myriad of local wildlife.
Nearly eight years passed before contact was regained with Earth. The spinning FTL receiver caught wind of a transmission several thousand lightyears away. Hours later, the captain was able to have a slow, lag-plagued conversation with a controller back on Titan. Days later, the crew was able to talk to families long lost to the distant stars. It was a momentous occasion, not only for the success of the mission, but for the possibility of return.
It took the effort of every man and woman in the Odyssey crew to build a suitable relay node and place it into orbit. The ship was too damaged to return to Earth, and the only way to ensure a rescue mission would be to rely on home for help. A plan was hatched and put into motion. Luckily, the years of research on the planet had led to a small but thriving community outside Odyssey. Shelters turned into homes, and the center of Freeman—named after the captain—was founded.
The hell of it was, when Earth finally reached Tallus, Odyssey’screw didn’t want to leave. They were already home. And with the advent of Blue Drive technology, more and more Terrans flocked to the dry landscape to carve out their own slice of freedom. Platinum mining became an extremely profitable business, and the population grew rapidly. Now united under new government, and still playing home to Fleet’s training field in the Valley, Tallus sparkled as a gem amidst the galaxy.
The swift rotation of the small planet led to short days at only 18 hours. Schools were letting out as the twin blue suns began to tango their way down below the horizon. It was the magic hour, when the city lights hadn’t yet drowned out the faint yet visible Valley overhead. Third-grader Natalie Barkovski stopped to wave up at the sky toward the slow-moving speck of light that orbited her world. She smiled a toothy grin and shouted.
“Have a good night, mom!”
- IV-
“Contact, vector nine-zero.”
Dunham looked at the distant curve of the approaching gas giant and saw light reflect off a glossy black hull. He brought his fighter to bear and saw the convoy: A black vessel, almost as long as a Terran frigate, orbited Venetian Four. The pilot could hardly understand what he was seeing. A large funnel dangled by a long tether into the swirling gasses, sucking up the emerald cloud. Five fighters, four Y-shaped ships and a larger command variant, circled the vessel.
“Overwatch,”Dunham said.“This is Kilo. We have visual on enemy targets. Eyes on five fighters and one...looks to be frigate-class, if not bigger.”
Kaileen tried to adjust her radar controls to pick up the enemy signal, but the planet’s gravity played havoc with the system. She turned to face the commander, Captain Gregorovich. The aging war vet sat placidly in his chair, smoking a fat cigar. He hadn’t said a word in almost an hour, and most of the crew thought he had fallen asleep again.
“Sir, Kilo has enemy contact. We’re within striding distance.”
Gregorovich glared at Kaileen.“And waste fuel? Kilo has twenty fighters, what are they looking at that they can’t handle?”
Kaileen spoke with Dunham over the comm before answering.“Captain Dunham says he has five fighters and a frigate-class vessel.”
The commander laughed.“Tell him to stop begging mommy for help and to face the big bully on his own. Weapons free. A few Harpies and the whole show will be over. We’d arrive about thirty minutes too late, lieutenant. No reason to even spin the engines.”He tapped the ash off his cigar into a waiting cup.“Comms, send a notice to Fleet that enemy ships have been spotted. Hell, we’ll probably get medals out of this.”
She didn’t like the Captain, but their was no reason to argue. He was, on all accounts, making a sound judgement call. After reviewing the tapes from Luna, the odds were clearly stacked in Kilo’s favor. She passed along the order to Dunham to engage.
In his fighter, Frank sent the word electronically, setting a target for each wingman pair.“Arm Harpies, stand by to engage.”Lights winked along his HUD as the other pilots acknowledged a lock on target. At this range, the Boxti fighters wouldn’t even know what hit them. Still, Dunham couldn’t shake a strange feeling. His radar had no trouble picking up these targets, but the report from Sol had said Boxti fighters required laser lock on. And the coordination in the security patrol was uncanny, as opposed to the reckless flying seen on the vids from Luna.
He pushed his doubt aside, arming a pair of missiles. Whatever the oddities may be, he had an order to eliminate the threat. Nothing his squadron couldn’t handle in two salvos or less.“Weapons free. Fire at will.”
* * * * *
At her post aboard Tallus Node Bravo, Rebecca Barkovski dozed at her computer. She’d taken the graveyard shift aboard the civilian vessel years before as a way to supplement her husband’s meager income, but it never got easier to be so far from home three days out of the week. Even the beautiful vista, overlooking the nebulous Valley of Giants, had lost its luster after a thousand days. In this economy, however, any paying gig was important. They want
ed another child, and there were few opportunities in the private sector on Tallus. So Rebecca resigned herself to her position and soldiered on.
The usual alerts flashed across her screen. An asteroid had been identified several million kilometers away. TSI had already flagged it for retrieval, so there was nothing for her to do. Fleet was engaged in some sort of training mission in the Valley—nothing new there. She would have been more surprised if there wasn’t another set of war games happening. A travel advisory was posted to all Terran planets until Fleet intelligence could determine where the Boxti armada was based. After a month without a sighting, though, most people figured the aliens had no interest in squaring off against humanity again.
An alarm sounded. Just an alert, not a full Bells-to-Hell shitstorm. Rebecca tapped a few keys on her keyboard to check the report. An Observer drone sent in a garbled transmission, something about an unauthorized FTL broadcast. The channel was unknown, but it didn’t give the civilian any reason to worry. Observers were notoriously neurotic and flagged just about everything that happened in space. Her first tour on the Node, an Observer had spent the entire shift insisting an invasion was imminent. After scrambling the entire Tallus SP, it was found that a cloud of debris from a passing junk hauler had drifted into Tallus’gravity well. After that, Rebecca found it hard to take the little robots seriously.
She added the report to a list of items sent to TSI control back on the ground and gave it no more thought. A poker game was starting behind her, and she was pretty sure her co-workers still had money to lose. Smiling, she pushed away from her computer and drifted over.
* * * * *
“Kilo, report!”
Only a few minutes had passed since initial contact with the Boxti frigate and neither Captain Dunham, nor anyone from his squadron, had so much as cursed over the radio. Kaileen couldn’t shake the feeling that something had gone wrong. The odds had been heavily stacked in the Terrans’favor, including the all-important element of surprise. There was no reason to think complete victory had not been achieved, and yet the hairs on the back of her neck were standing on end.
“Kilo, this is Overwatch. Report your status.”She looked at Gregorovich, frowning.“Sir, I’ve got nothing. We need to head over there and make sure they’re alive.”
The elderly commander sighed, easing himself into a more professional sitting position. He paused, gathering his thoughts for an interminable few seconds before responding.“Are you giving orders now, Lieutenant?”He smiled, but his eyes were anything but warm.
Kaileen bit her tongue and let out a short breath through her nostrils.“No, sir. I am recommending that we investigate and make sure our fighter squadron is alive.”
Gregorovich yawned, stretching his limbs out like a cat.“But they’re so far away. At Stride speed we’re a half-an-hour from Venetian Four, and I had every intention of heading back toward Tallus after Kilo returned.”
“But sir!”She threw her arms in the air and turned toward the communications officer.“Can we get a visual on that sector of space? A satellite or something?”
Gregorovich’s face reddened.“Lieutenant, belay that order.”
“Goddamnit,”Kaileen said. She hobbled over to the communication terminal, shoving the scrawny soldier aside and scrolling through the various contacts on the screen. She found one she liked and dragged it up, flicking it toward the main terminal. An image of the gas giant appeared, though nothing else could be seen.“Move us up a few hundred kilometers and we should have an angle over the top. We’ll be able to see where they reported the contacts.”
“Lieutenant Nuvarian,”the Captain said.“Your shift is over. Go back to medical.”
Kaileen wheeled around, her eyes full of fire.“Sir,”she began.
“Not another word. Lieutenant Marcos can run the projector. Now get back to your physical therapy before I make it an order. There is nothing going on here.”
She felt her temperature rising, blood pumping hot through her veins. Her mouth was open before her brain could register the danger.“We’ve lost contact with twenty fighters, and this is the first interaction with the enemy since Luna. What if this was an ambush? What if they’re all dead already.”She was breathing hard now.“How can you be so fucking stupid?”
A second passed before her words struck him.
Gregorovich rose from his chair, his face red.“Get her the FUCK off my bridge!”He shook with rage, his cigar falling from his lips and tumbling to the ground.“I want her remanded to the brig. A weekat half rations!”Two MPs appeared, hands on their holsters. They didn’t appear worried that the hundred-and-ten-pound pilot with one good leg would be a threat.
Kaileen’s momentary shock didn’t mean she wanted to go quietly. When the first MP grabbed her arm she brought her elbow back hard. The poor sergeant collapsed against the wall, gasping. The other soldier grabbed her wrist and bent it behind her back until she cried out. Together the two men cuffed the lieutenant and dragged her from the room. She looked at her feet as they dragged her briskly down the halls to the brig.
After an oxygen tank had proven faulty a week earlier, the brig had been temporarily moved to an adjacent escape pod. The small space was actually less hospitable than the brig cell, and the controls were all hardwired to a panel outside the airlock. One of the soldiers opened the door to the pod and guided Kaileen inside. Before shutting the door, he handed her a combat ration with a grin.
“I’ll be here if you want to go another round.”He sealed the hatch and disappeared from view.
Taking a seat inside the escape pod, Kaileen rested her head against the cool wall. The vibrations from the ship calmed her nerves and carried up inside her cast to sooth her sore leg. Before long, the adrenaline wore off and she fell into a fitful rest.
- V -
Alexander awoke aboard Imperion One, the capital frigate of the High Chancellor. Opulent to the point of excess, Imperion had been designed during the first years of the United Earth Council, after the Empirical War. The schematics sat unused for almost a half century before being revised by the Council toward the end of the twenty-second century. Platinum and titanium composites covered every inch of the hull, gilded with a gold carbon fitting. The sleek and futuristic curves of the frigate made it the source of envy and admiration for every politician in the council.
The High Chancellor sat up from the couch in his office, shaking off the last vestiges of sleep. He rubbed his eyes and blinked until they became clear. Alice, a young staffer, appeared with a steaming cup of coffee and a piece of wheat toast. The chief executive took the cup and sipped, knowing it would already be the right temperature. The perks of the job were not lost on him. He grimaced at the bitter taste, but the drink was strong and exactly what he needed at the moment.
For a moment he was somewhere else, sipping piping hot and bitter coffee grounds from a rusty metal can. His senses are overwhelmed by the stench of smoke and blood and shit, and there are literally thousands of voices crying out for help or death or mama. As quickly as it began, the episode ended. Alexander was back in his room, surrounded by soft colors and solid wood furniture. His hands were still shaking as he wiped away the tears he knew had come. Cry out the demons, his doctor had always told him.
Once the caffeine kicked in, and he felt more composed, Alexander stood and walked out of the room. Donald appeared at his side, the silent shadow. Alexander gave him a nod but otherwise kept quiet. He wasn’t sure if his voice would still shake.
As they neared the end of the hall, Alexander heard two men arguing loudly. Normally he would smile and enjoy the brief moment he had before joining in the conversation, but now it just tweaked his frayed nerves even more. Donald opened the door and they walked into the din.
Arthur and Jerry Ahmad, Alexander’s Chief of Staff, sat in the conference room debating. Jerry, a former CEO, had never been a fan of“the game.”Politics, as he would often say, was a place for the greedy and power-hungry. The age of representing the peopl
e seemed to have passed long before interstellar flight, but the added distance made ruling over a galaxy of individuals an impossible task. Alexander lamented the fact that, without his army of counsellors, presidents and governors, running the known universe would be a pipe dream. Not that he’d asked for the job, but he’d suffer through the role nonetheless.
Arthur had other ideas on the subject. Raised in a generation where the Terran Colonization Policy was almost a reality, he felt expansion was not only a goal but a destiny. Many of his contemporaries felt the same, and the chambers of the Centurial Council often fell into argument over the future of the human race. Alexander didn’t like the idea of turning a barely functioning federate into an empire. Two centuries had passed since the failed rule of Emperor Norton, and no one was eager to reopen that wound.
“Alexander,”Jerry said, standing.“About time you woke up. I figured you’d just decided to go peacefully rather than wade through another year of this crap.”He shook the High Chancellor’s hand with an iron grip.“Arthur here was trying his best not to fall behind in an adult conversation.”Jerry turned to face the young man.“I commend the attempt, but next time leave the politics to the big boys.”
Arthur turned beet red. He was used to sparring with Mr. Ahmad, but losing never got easier.“Chancellor, this idea of a draft is already kicking us in the teeth. The media is running with the idea that you’re preparing to garrison the colonies.”
Alexander raised an eyebrow at that thought.“Wouldn’t hurt to put a few hundred thousand boots on the ground around the major cities. Maybe impose martial law.”He clapped Arthur on the back.“Good thinking, Arthur. I may just name this plan after you.”
“That’s not funny, sir.”
Alexander laughed.“I don’t intend on ending my short career at the end of a rope, Arthur. Life shall go on as normal for the growing planets, and eventually the Council will come to understand the need for the military build-up.”He turned toward Jerry.“There are, what, nine carriers in the Fleet total?”
When the Stars Fade (The Gray Wars) Page 9
