Aurora Rising: The Complete Collection

by G. S. Jennsen

  Not even her.

  Yet here he was, commander of a starship for twenty-three days and flying into the middle of a war.

  He had been happy serving as the operations officer for the 3rd BC Brigade in Vancouver. It was a good posting, with plenty of responsibility and solid officers under him. But if he wanted to make full colonel in the next decade—or possibly ever—a flight command tour was all but a necessity. And he did want to make colonel, almost as much as Veronica wanted him to.

  It was only because she believed in him and thought he was capable of greater things that she pushed him so. He knew this in his heart.

  So he had left behind his beautiful new wife of two months, his honorable if slightly staid job and his charming house in the North Vancouver foothills for a half-year space tour. Seventeen days in he had found himself in a war. Alex would be laughing her ass off if she could see him now….

  “Flight Lieutenant Billoughy, prepare to idle the sLume drive at 14:35:00. Helmsman Xao, is the Orellan asteroid belt survey loaded into the navigation system?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Very good. Impulse in two…one…mark.”

  In the large viewport dominating the bow of the bridge, stars crystalized into focus. Though nearly 3.4 AU away, the sanguine light from the system’s red giant sun cast an eerie hue over the scene. Two of the other four frigates in the formation materialized in the port and starboard peripherals as well as on the tactical map to his left.

  “All systems—”

  An explosion off their port viewport blew a hole in the side of the EAS Somerset 2.3 seconds after it emerged from superluminal. The shockwave shuddered across the bridge, causing him to grab for the arm of his chair while he implemented Level V alert status. Alarms rang through the deck, but he filtered the increased noise to the background.

  He quickly sat down so as not to stumble around the bridge like some ground-pounder. Miniature versions of the tactical and sector maps leapt onto small screens beside him. He watched in dismay as the EAS Caroline ventured forth to their starboard, never seeing the ‘asteroid’ beneath it which detonated and blew out its impulse engine.

  Lt. Colonel Jenner: Command, the asteroid field is mined. I repeat, the asteroid field is mined.

  The field had been mapped to a three-meter level of accuracy so ships were able to avoid collisions. Now it appeared mines had been disguised to resemble asteroids to the casual observer—‘asteroids’ which would not be on the map.

  “Science, I need active visual scans. Update navigation on new obstacles as they are found. Tactical, deploy drones in sets of four spaced one hundred fifty meters apart. Billoughy, keep our course at least two hundred meters rear of the drones. Systems, divert non-critical power to plasma shield—”

  The tactical map flared red as a dozen Senecan fighters dropped out of superluminal into the middle of the asteroid field and spread to engage. Based on the speed they were approaching, they did possess detailed mappings of the mines’ locations as well as the asteroids themselves.

  The Caroline made for easy pickings with its impulse engine disabled. It took under eight seconds for the small ships to destroy its sLume drive and blow a hole through its shields and into the port stern hull.

  The comm screen to his right shouted in bold letters when their own fighters launched from the carrier accompanying them, the EAS Sao Paulo. The surrounding space lit up in arcing laser streams and small explosions as numerous asteroids fell victim to the crossfire.

  For a breath he paused to acknowledge the scene depicted in the viewport. So this is what space warfare truly looked like. Admittedly, it was beautiful.

  “Weapons, you get a clear shot on one of those fighters, you take it. Billoughy, increase minimum distance to drones to four hundred meters and prepare for evasive maneuvers.” A bright plume flared ahead; he thought it might be a drone catching a mine, but a glance at tactical confirmed it was a fighter. One of ours.

  He stared at the screen, briefly transfixed as a Senecan fighter drew its opponent into a mine, diverting at the last instant and leaving the Alliance ship to disintegrate.

  “Jesus…Science, get the updated scans out to the other ships.”

  Lt. Colonel Jenner: Recommend all capable vessels initiate active visual scans to update navigation maps. Our optimal range does not encompass entire battle sector.

  Rear Admiral Tarone (Sao Paulo): Michigan, Hirami, assume defensive positions off Sao Paulo flanks. Juno, get your ass back here on the double and assume point.

  The carrier, having been lucky enough to arrive at a location absent of any mines, had little choice at the moment but to hold its position. Given its size and relative lack of maneuverability, it faced certain damage and probable crippling if it attempted to navigate the asteroid field. Requesting protection was understandable.

  Nonetheless, Malcolm bristled at the order. It left their fighters with effectively no support and created a giant stationary target for the enemy.

  “Billoughy, reverse course and adopt a position 0.8 kilometers N 5.00° E of the Sao Paulo.”

  “Sir?”

  “You heard me. Those are our orders.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Tactical, continue deploying drones to replace those destroyed.” By this point the drones were doing a decent job of clearing a path forward in about a 60° arc. Maybe the fighters would be able to use it to their advantage…he looked back at the screens. Shit, they only had four still flying to the Senecans’ nine?

  This was a bloodbath.

  Even without the mines the battlefield favored the opponents’ superior maneuverability—undoubtedly one reason it had been chosen. The Senecans clearly had identified their ostensibly ‘random’ routes and knew they would eventually traverse the asteroid field.

  He sent a private pulse to Tarone.

  Admiral, we’ve lost two-thirds of our fighters and a third of our frigates. Perhaps we should consider retreating.

  Run from a few tiny fighters? Ridiculous.

  …Yes, sir.

  With the dwindling number of Alliance fighters to offer resistance, several of the enemy vessels began advancing on their position.

  “Weapons, be ready to lock on to the first ship to come in range.”

  “Yes, sir.” Seven seconds later a pulse beam leapt out of the well of the Juno.

  It was virtually impossible to escape a pulse beam once it had locked on, and the ship did not. But it did execute a hairpin turn to drop behind a real asteroid an instant before the beam reached it. The asteroid exploded into hundreds of shards, some of which surely caused damage to the fighter—yet it emerged from the debris to resume advancing.

  Dammit.

  But perhaps the Admiral was correct. There was no way nine Senecan fighters could survive against the weaponry of three Alliance frigates and a carrier long enough to do any real damage.

  The error in his thinking became apparent when five fighters converged toward the Hirami off the Sao Paulo’s port flank, dancing and weaving almost too rapidly for the eye to follow. Frigates wielded only two plasma weapons.

  The comm screen lit up again.

  Lt. Colonel T’soki (Hirami): Request weapons support from Sao Paulo.

  Rear Admiral Tarone (Sao Paulo): Negative, cannot fire from this position without hitting Hirami.

  “Weapons, any chance we can target one of the fighters without catching the Hirami?”

  “Possibly, sir. Searching for a target in right quadrant…locked.”

  Lt. Colonel Jenner: Hirami, we’ve got one of them for you.

  Lt. Colonel T’soki (Hirami): Much appreciated.

  “Weapons, if you can take any more out, do so.”

  But it wasn’t enough. Three of the fighters were destroyed, but by the time the Hirami was able to retarget, the remaining two were on top of them. They dropped in a deep arc beneath the Hirami and targeted the impulse engine. It would require a lot of firepower for so few fighters to take out the engine
though; maybe he could take them out before they succeeded.

  “Weapons….”

  “Trying, sir.”

  Then the Senecan vessels did the unthinkable. They accelerated and suicided into the impulse drive.

  The blast ricocheted through the Hirami’s hull, ripping it to shreds in seconds.

  He couldn’t hear the metal tearing apart, nor the screams of the crew. Nonetheless it was a horrific sight, witnessing the destruction of 74,000 tonnes of starship and as many as a hundred lives. He vaguely noted the Senecan pilots had ejected just prior to impact; not quite so suicidal after all.

  Still, he had to remind himself, the enemy was down to a mere three ships. Even if those ships had eliminated two more Alliance fighters while the others had engaged the Hirami.

  “Weapons, target remaining fight—”

  The tactical map flashed an angry red as two Senecan cruisers and six frigates materialized on the map.

  Lt. Colonel Jenner: Admiral, we must retreat.

  Lt. Colonel Pniewski (Michigan): What about rescuing survivors?

  Another Alliance fighter vanished from the map.

  Lt. Colonel Jenner: The Senecans will pick them up. They’ll be POWs, but they’ll be alive. Admiral? Do we have a retreat order?

  A long pause.

  Rear Admiral Tarone (Sao Paulo): Retreat. Rendezvous Fionava.

  “Billoughy, engage the sLume drive immediately. Fionava heading.”

  It took approximately 7.2 seconds for a frigate-sized sLume drive to power up and engage. The sole intact Alliance fighter sped into the Sao Paulo’s bay with five seconds to spare.

  Malcolm kept an eye on tactical while the drive powered up. He—

  Lt. Colonel Jenner: Michigan, watch your starboard!

  The remaining Senecan fighters had cloaked in, revealing themselves less than a second before their weapons fired into the sLume drive. The developing warp bubble cavorted wildly then detonated in a massive sphere of exotic particles, vaporizing the Michigan as it expanded at an alarming rate—

  “Flight?”

  “Drive active…now!”

  The glare of the explosion blurred to nothingness as they accelerated away at hundreds of times the speed of light. He sank into the chair, stunned, as the adrenaline abandoned him in waves.

  The formation had been all but wiped out, none but the Sao Paulo, the Juno and a single fighter surviving to retreat.

  It would take nearly six hours to reach Northwestern Regional Command on Fionava. But when they arrived, Malcolm was damn straight departing the ship and finding himself some fresh air to breathe.

  63

  SPACE, NORTH-CENTRAL QUADRANT

  SENECAN FEDERATION SPACE

  * * *

  THE FIRST THING ALEX WAS AWARE OF was the chill of gel medwraps melded to her abdomen and back. Next came the dull but not insignificant pain.

  Her eyelids fluttered open.

  A wave of disorientation washed over her—the cushions beneath her felt wrong, the walls looked wrong, the lights…then she remembered. Not her ship. A rental.

  Caleb sat cross-legged on the floor, back to the wall, hands fisted at his chin, eyes downcast. He must have caught the telltale signs of movement in his peripheral vision because his eyes shot up to her. They shone brightly, but their color had paled to that of heavenly blue morning glories blooming with the dawn.

  “Hey, you’re awake.”

  She blinked and frowned. Her brain felt like muddled mush. Had they been outside the Intelligence Division building? Everything since they left the riverwalk was a blur. “How did we get here? We were…I don’t know.”

  “You passed out—you’d been shot. I took a skycar to get us to the ship, then treated your wounds. How do you feel? Can I get you…something…?”

  He quickly stood but didn’t approach her. He didn’t seem to know what to do with himself, and even in her addled state she noticed the light fading from his eyes. It was as if he were disappearing away from her down a long tunnel—which was ridiculous, because he still stood right there.

  “Water, maybe?” She steadied both palms on the couch cushion and gingerly sat up, letting her legs trail to the floor. Ow. Yes, she most certainly had been shot. Vague memories began to bubble up, all jumbled and fragmented. It had been the first volley, as they dove behind the vehicle a millisecond too late. She tried to arrange the memories in a sequential order, but after the laser sliced into her the rest was chaos through a smudged lens.

  Her hands clutched the cushion in a death grip to keep her upright until he showed up at her side, outstretched arm holding a glass of water. She hesitantly released one hand and reached up. Still upright. Excellent.

  Once she took the glass he started pacing. The cabin in the rented ship was small, and it made her a bit dizzy to watch him constantly turning. “Are we on our way to Romane?”

  “Yeah. I didn’t think anywhere on Seneca was safe under the circumstances.”

  She sipped on the water and struggled to get her bearings and force her brain into some semblance of proper function. After a few more sips it occurred to her that he wasn’t looking at her…and had yet to touch her. A troubling sensation stirred in her gut, right next to the gunshot wound.

  He continued pacing. And turning. “We’ll be there mid-morning. You can get back to your ship and head home. They can protect you there. I’ll try to find out what the hell’s going on. Maybe I can discover who’s behind these attacks, who put the hit on us and Volosk and why….”

  She swallowed, her throat unaccountably dry though doused with water. “You’re leaving?”

  His voice had a strange flat, detached quality she had never heard before; it matched his flat, blank expression as he nodded. “I’m sure you’ll want to be getting back to Earth, and I should go after these guys. It’s fine.”

  She stared at him not looking at her. “What’s fine?”

  “Me leaving. I’m sorry you got hurt, I…I didn’t want that. And I understand, so—”

  “At least one of us does.” She heard the sharp acrimony in her tone, though he didn’t appear to. “Unless….”

  The blur of the evening’s events raced in crocked circles in her head—his now odd, dispassionate manner, what Mia had said about what impressed him, his own admission of why he had chosen his line of work—and the ache in her gut leapt into her chest and flared to drown any pain from her wounds.

  “Sure. Okay. I get it.” An incredulous breath forced its way past her lips. She was so angry at herself. She had actually allowed herself to begin to…believe. How stupid must she be!

  His brow contorted, as if uncertain what direction to adopt. “Listen, I know you’re probably disgusted with me right now. I mean there’s still blood on my clothes, even if some of it is yours. But—”

  She laughed harshly. Owww. “I’m seriously considering being disgusted—why is there still blood on your clothes?”

  For the briefest moment the blank mask he wore faltered, and emotion flooded his features. He looked stricken—as though he had learned the universe was to be annihilated in the next hour, or his mother or perhaps his favorite pet had died. Seeing as none of those were particularly likely, damned if she could figure out why he might look this way.

  She instructed her eVi to have her cybernetics ease up on the wound healing for the time being and send a bit more oxygen and, if need be, adrenaline to her brain. It suddenly seemed quite important she be able to think clearly.

  “I didn’t want to leave you alone while you were unconscious. But you’re okay so…” he moved toward the small stairwell which led to the sleeping area “…so I’ll go change now. I’ll bring you up a shirt.”

  She hadn’t bothered to notice her sweater was gone and she wore only a bra. Whatever. Sheer anger and disbelief had now risen to drown both the ache in her chest and the ache from her wounds. She would not show weakness.

  “We’re not finished here.”

  It took him two seconds to
turn around. Seconds which stretched into an eternity. The mask was back in place, while the tenor of his voice carried less inflection than a rudimentary VI. “Okay. Say what you need to.”

  “Gladly. Yes, I am disgusted with you for wanting to ditch me the second I’m the smallest burden to you. I knew you had a strong survival instinct and all, but I didn’t think you were—”

  His eyebrows drew into fierce streaks of discontentment. “I’m not—I didn’t mean—”

  “No, it is, as you say, ‘fine.’ You go ahead and do whatever the fuck you want to do. Don’t give it a second thought.” She forgot she bore a small injury, wrenched around to stand and storm off to the cockpit—because it’s what she would have done on her ship—and doubled over as a sharp jolt of pain lanced into her side.

  As she sank down onto the couch he materialized at her side. “Are you okay? You should—”

  “Don’t touch me,” she growled through gritted teeth.

  He backed away, eyes wide with what closely resembled anguish. “I’m sorry…I only wanted…I’ll leave you alone.”

  He again moved toward the stairs, his murmur little more than a whisper. “You may not believe me, but I would never hurt you.”

  “You’re leaving aren’t you,” she grumbled under her breath, and immediately cringed. She should not have said that aloud. Dammit. The pain was wreaking havoc on her brain-to-mouth regulator.

  “That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

  Shit, he had heard her. She closed her eyes and dropped her head against the cushion. “It is now.”

  There was no response; she assumed he had grown bored with the verbal sparring and gone downstairs. She sank further into the cushions, all the energy seeping out of her. She was tired, she was in pain and she was—

  “I’m not certain I understand.”