Aurora Rising: The Complete Collection

by G. S. Jennsen

  “Ken, I haven’t slept with him.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t sleep with every handsome stranger who crosses my path.”

  “So he’s handsome?”

  She bit her lower lip and took another sip to hide the extent of her grin. “Oh yes. Now would you let me finish my story? It’s important.”

  Kennedy waved a hand in her direction and leaned back as the waiter brought their appetizer.

  She waited until the waiter departed before continuing. “So we repaired my ship and went to investigate some strange readings coming from the center of the Metis Nebula—and found an alien army amassing for an invasion.”

  Her best friend stared at her, flat-faced. “That’s not funny. You were never any good at telling jokes, you know this.”

  “It’s not a joke.”

  Perhaps recognizing the deadly serious expression on Alex’s face, a frown grew on her lips. “Aliens? Truly?”

  “Truly.”

  “Well, are you sure they’re invading? I mean, maybe they’re simply dropping by to say ‘hi’?”

  She couldn’t risk displaying an aural where others might see; she sent one of the visuals instead. “What do you think?”

  Across the table, Kennedy’s eyes widened precipitously in growing horror. The blood drained from her face, blanching her tanned skin pale. “My god…Alex, this….” She swallowed hard. “What are we doing about it?”

  “That remains to be seen. The Prime Minister’s Science Advisor is ‘reviewing’ the material. The EASC Board is ‘reviewing’ the material. I’m shouting at them tomorrow.”

  “Shit, if they don’t take action you should leak this to the media.”

  “And cause a galactic panic? I’m not sure it’s a great idea. The average person can’t do anything against this kind of threat. The military is the only one who can act.”

  She frowned again, more deeply than before. “You said they’re in the Metis Nebula? The Senecans are much closer than we are. Shouldn’t they maybe be warned? I realize apparently we’re at war with them again for some reason, but….”

  “It’s okay. They already know.”

  “You managed to get this information to the Senecan government? Impressive, even for you.”

  “Not exactly. My, um…the guy…is Senecan…” her voice trailed off “…Intelligence.”

  Kennedy’s mouth fell open. “Oh my god this is better than one of those intrigue romance novels.”

  “Ken, it’s not a romance novel.”

  “Mmhmm. So where is he now? Is he here? Can I meet him?”

  She cringed and stuffed a bite of escargot in her mouth. “He’s in lockup over at EASC Security Detention….”

  “You turned him in?”

  “No, I didn’t turn him in. His cover got blown.”

  “Damn. What are you going to do? Are you going to leave him there?”

  “No—well for the moment, yes, because making sure the military gets off their asses and gets ready for these aliens is more important. But that brings me to the actual point of the story. I mean other than warning you there was an impending alien invasion no one knows about.”

  “Which would be?”

  “Is Claire still in San Francisco?”

  Kennedy sat back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. “What makes you think I know where she is?”

  Alex rolled her eyes and leveled a look across the table. “Is Claire still in San Francisco?”

  She blew out a breath through tight lips. “She is.”

  “Do you know how to get in touch with her?”

  “I…do. But not to use her or procure…whatever she might offer. I only, well, it never hurts to keep in touch with former acquaintances and potential future resources. Can I ask why you need to contact her?”

  “Because I need a damn good spoofing routine and I don’t have time to write one myself.”

  Kennedy’s brow furrowed a moment—then realization dawned. “Oh…I see. He must really be something.”

  “It’s not that. It’s my fault he was arrested. I’m the one who asked him to come with me here, and I dragged him right into EASC Headquarters. He may work for whatever they are—it sounds absurd to call the Senecans the ‘enemy’ when there’s a real enemy looming in the wings—but he didn’t do anything wrong. I can’t leave him in a prison cell to rot.”

  “Because you’re a decent person, even if you don’t like to admit it. Still…he must really be something.”

  Alex merely smiled.

  43

  SPACE, NORTH-CENTRAL QUADRANT

  BORDER OF SENECAN FEDERATION SPACE

  * * *

  THE FIRST TRUE BATTLE of the Second Crux War was fought, perhaps not surprisingly, in the space above Desna.

  A small Alliance colony in shouting distance of Senecan Federation territory, it had no real economy beyond that necessary to sustain its population in daily life. Founded twenty-seven years earlier, it continued to exist primarily as a silent line in the sand blocking future expansion of the Federation in the direction of Earth and the First Wave worlds.

  The 2nd Brigade of the Earth Alliance NE Regional Command intercepted the 3rd Wing of the Senecan Federation Southern Fleet as it traversed the officially designated buffer zone on the edge of Federation Space. Alliance NE Regional Commander Admiral Christopher Rychen deemed their position too close to Desna’s system—but it was without a doubt an orchestrated encounter.

  Commander Morgan Lekkas’ squadron of ten Senecan fighters was the first to depart the 3rd Wing’s carrier SFS Catania upon being alerted of the approaching force. Their initial directives were to engage and/or deflect any and all attackers, drones and missiles while the frigates moved into combat formation and the other two fighter squadrons took up positions.

  The coordinates, speed, bearing, weapons status and physical condition of each of the nine fighters under Morgan’s command displayed and updated every eighty milliseconds on one of four whispers projected in her vision. Her team was down two ships lost in the Arcadia offensive. They wouldn’t be replaced for another week…but the battle was now.

  “Swarm on my mark. Two…one…mark.”

  To the untrained eye, a swarm maneuver might resemble chaos far more than any organized strategy. In actuality it represented a highly precise and efficient pattern over any grid of space. Each individual ship’s movements appeared random and nearly impossible to predict; together they provided total coverage of the designated area.

  The second of her whispers showed all enemy vessels within five hundred megameters. Lacking the deep integration she enjoyed with her squadron, this display only updated every 0.8 seconds.

  Three tiny dots flash to life. “Drone launch, N 38.04°z-10.15 E. Flight 3 engage.”

  Engaged.

  Four seconds later—Down. Down. A pause. Down.

  She could see the small explosions on the whisper of course, but it built pride and confidence for pilots to announce their successes, and she encouraged it.

  Two larger dots appeared. Alliance frigates; they would represent the forward flank.

  A sea of red pinpoints fanned out from the frigates. “Sixteen missiles away. Engage.”

  Faster than she was capable of speaking, she assigned every fighter a missile based on proximity and trajectory. That left six free missiles—but first things first.

  The swarm dissolved into precise, directed movements. Her primary attention diverted to her own missile tracking across the translucent screen overlaying her viewport. She banked in a controlled slide to its right until its entire length was centered in the reticle.

  Lock. Fire.

  “Down.”

  Five missiles had now been destroyed. She moved to the closest free one.

  Track. Drop. Invert. Lock. Fire.

  “Down.”

  Epsilon took out a second missile. Twelve down—and four were through their net.

  “Command, four missiles free.”<
br />
  Acknowledged.

  The third whisper displayed strategically relevant information from the other two squadron leaders, the captains of the ten frigates (also down two after Arcadia) and the commander of the Catania, Commodore Pachis.

  2nd squadron (defense) engaging.

  Seven seconds later—All missiles destroyed.

  The attackers likely didn’t expect any of the missiles to survive to impact. It was merely an opening volley, designed to occupy and distract. And to some extent, it worked. Three stealth electronic jammer craft had snuck through the outer defensive line and set about scrambling several of the Senecan vessels’ targeting ware.

  Combat formation active. Begin primary engagement.

  “Harass on my mark. Two…one…mark.”

  It was the job of the 1st squadron to engage the frontal force of Alliance fighters and of the 2nd squadron to fly defensive patrol around the carrier and rear frigates. It was the job of Lekkas’ squadron to create chaos behind the lines and on the edges, to chase outliers and take advantage of opportunities as the battle spread out across megameters of space.

  Though she continued to monitor the status of each of the ships under her command, to a large extent the individual pilots now gained freedom of movement and decision, subject to guidance from the Flight primaries.

  She also served as Primary of Flight 1. “Our target is Alliance frigate bearing N 24.51°z18.06 E. Weapons and engines.”

  Slipping behind enemy lines was not an easy matter. They possessed robust dampener fields, but the fields interfered with targeting and constituted a hindrance while firing. Therefore, her preferred tactic was to activate the field and swing wide out and low in order to pass through the outer Alliance defenses, deactivate the field and use her ship’s agility to avoid destruction while making several quick hits, then vanish again.

  Her speed, trajectory and ship vitals shone brightly in the fourth whisper. For a moment, beyond it there existed only the blackness of space, lit by the stars outside her cockpit and the faint glow of a sun behind her, as she dropped in near free-fall.

  The agility and maneuverability Commander Lekkas’ squadron would use to their benefit amidst the Alliance fleet was far less of an advantage in head-to-head space combat. With no obstacles to avoid or atmosphere to fight against, the lightweight construction of Senecan fighters was of marginal value against the tougher, hardier Alliance fighters. Even rapid maneuverability couldn’t escape plasma weapons which once locked were able to track movement up to 0.6 light speed. The 1st squadron fought hard but quickly suffered heavy losses on the front lines.

  The fire of massive plasma cannons on both sides lit the field of battle, at times meeting each other mid-arc in tremendous explosions of light. Though better protected than the fighters, Senecan frigates were still more lightweight and maneuverable than their Alliance counterparts. But the Alliance ships were workhorses and exceedingly difficult to destroy.

  Worse, the Alliance had come prepared. Having taken due note of the size of the detachment sent to Arcadia, Admiral Rychen’s forces had arrived in strength. In the time it took Senecan vessels to destroy one Alliance frigate, two Senecan ones were disabled or destroyed—and the Alliance enjoyed more to begin with.

  For this battle, in this space and under these circumstances, the outcome was inevitable almost before it had begun.

  Lekkas did more than most to try to even the odds. Skimming so close beneath the hull of a frigate she was able to clearly see the shimmer of its plasma shield, she accelerated past the stern weapons assembly and pivoted 180°.

  Target. Lock. Fire.

  The assembly splintered apart in a burst of flame and free plasma. She was already gone, the hint of a smile tugging at her lips. The impulse engine was her next target.

  A frigate’s impulse engine was too sturdily built to be easily destroyed by small pulse laser weapons—but with concentrated fire it could be disabled. She met her flight members beneath the rear of the ship for a brief, directed, coordinated assault. They had 3.4 seconds before Alliance reserve fighters arrived to annihilate them. In 3.3 seconds the glow of the impulse engine shifted from pale blue to fiery orange in an unstoppable chain reaction which would soon result in a critical overload—and they vanished.

  Lekkas and her team disabled the weapons and partially or wholly disabled the engines of an additional three frigates as well as four electronic warfare vessels before Commodore Pachis signaled the retreat. While they likely saved a number of soldiers’ lives through their actions, they ultimately didn’t change the outcome of the battle.

  The 3rd Wing of the Senecan Federation Southern Fleet arrived with ten frigates and left with three. Sixteen of twenty-six

  fighters survived, but the relatively high survival ratio was due solely to the fact Commander Morgan Lekkas’ squadron did not lose a single ship.

  44

  EARTH

  SAN FRANCISCO

  * * *

  A HEAVY, DAMP FOG BLANKETED the streets as far as the eye could see. Which, given it was 0100 and the previously mentioned fog, wasn’t particularly far.

  The street lights gave the fog a washed-out champagne glow and created an aura of eerie otherworldliness. This time of year the fog shrouded the Outer Sunset District and Ocean Beach day and night, seeing only the occasional brief clearing after a storm front passed through.

  Alex felt the moisture condensing on the fine hairs of her arms. The night air was cold as hell, but she had needed to dress the part. A deep crimson camisole woven with gossamer optic fibers draped to her navel; black leather pants clung low on her hips as she hurried down Taraval. It was even later now, and she still had a lot to do.

  The club was almost to the beach, and she could hear the surf crashing against the shore. It brought back memories…memories she did not have time to entertain. She pushed them aside and located the unmarked door beneath one of the refabbed Victorian row houses.

  The music assaulted her ears as she descended the stairs. Pure synth—no beat and no lyrics, merely a constant wave of complex tonals designed to soothe the mind and body into a state of open relaxation. It was warmer inside at least, though she suspected it would soon feel too humid as a result.

  The warehouse space appeared pitch black save for vague shadows of moving bodies and the neon painted sensory address floating near the ceiling. With a sigh she accessed it. She’d never find her way in the dark.

  The overlay shimmered to life. Stars materialized beneath her feet and the cool glow of a pale green nebula in the space around her. A triple star system spun in the air above her, comets dancing merrily amongst it in concentric orbits.

  She wouldn’t spoil everyone’s fun, but even a full-sensory overlay didn’t come close to matching the real thing.

  Men and women danced in the center of the room in slow, languorous, sensual movements to the synth music or occasionally to their own beat. Others slumped against the wall, lost in head trips. Small groups formed circles, each leaning on the other to remain standing while they engaged in group illusoires set in what was doubtless fantastical worlds. A few couples pawed at each other in the shadowed corners. A few did more.

  Alex. The prodigal daughter returns. You can find me on the balcony.

  Her eyes scanned the room until she made out the outline of an overhang high above the rear section of the dance floor. She wound her way through the crowd, most of whom didn’t notice her. At the sensation of a hand running along the small of her back and dipping into her pants, however, she did pause to casually knee a strapping young man in the balls then keep moving.

  The balcony was nearly as crowded as the floor below—but Claire Zabroi was difficult to miss.

  Not because of the cropped, jet black spiked hair or the skintight white leather pants and tunic. No, Claire was difficult to miss primarily because of the full-body network of saffron hued glyphs. They didn’t swirl or entwine softly like most glyphs did to double as tattoo art. Instead they mi
micked the intricate patterns of a circuit board, all straight lines and hard angles. They wound up her neck to run along her jaw and disappear behind her ears, leaving her face the sole visible part of her body untattooed.

  She had a woman on one arm and a drink in the other hand, but upon spotting Alex a smile pulled at her lips. She nudged the woman off and motioned to a table in the corner. Alex grabbed a cocktail off a waiter’s tray on the way over.

  Claire greeted her with a smooth hug. “Alex, babe. It’s been far too long. However do you entertain yourself these days?”

  “Oh, I manage.” She slid into the chair opposite her old…acquaintance. Claire was from a very different time in her life. A time after university, when freed of the rigors of study and serving an externship which was interesting enough but hardly filled the hours, she and Kennedy had found themselves in The City by the Bay while young and single, with money, freedom and few responsibilities.

  They had soon met Ethan, then Drake and Alice, and through Alice, Claire. Claire was a hedonist, adrenaline junkie and casual chimeral dealer. But most of all, Claire was a hacker—and not your average hacker.

  Though not many people knew it—i.e., she had not thus far been caught—she was responsible for the hacking of TransBank and ‘redistribution’ of more than six billion credits to seventeen thousand random individuals. She was also behind the hacking and leaking of government documents which brought down the North American Eastern District Governor in 2309, as well as half a dozen less infamous exploits.

  Alex may or may not have assisted in any small or large way in all, some or none of those exploits. It was, as she had noted, a different time in her life.

  “So what brings you back into the underworld? Your message said it was urgent.” Claire grinned; it was a harsh, predatory look on her. “Or are you jonesing? I can drop you some Surf if you want—on the house, for old times’ sake.”

  Alex gave a wry chuckle. “No thanks, I don’t indulge anymore. Not often anyway….”