Void Dragon
William Kephart
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.
Copyright © 2019 by William Kephart
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a review.
Table of Contents
Prologue 4
Chapter 1 5
Chapter 2 11
Chapter 3 16
Chapter 4 23
Chapter 5 30
Chapter 6 35
Chapter 7 42
Chapter 8 48
Chapter 9 57
Chapter 10 68
Chapter 11 76
Chapter 12 84
Chapter 13 94
Chapter 14 107
Chapter 15 116
Chapter 16 122
Epilogue 144
Terminology of the Gongyue Systems Republic 147
A Brief History of the Gongyue Government 149
Prologue
The human race is no more. Unified under the Chinese-led Gongyue Government, the people of Earth have founded an interstellar empire. This empire is divided into two classes: the tall privileged Ren, who alone have been allowed to settle the best worlds fit for humanoid life, and the stocky Mei, relegated to the Tiandao, artificial cities floating in gas giant planets with punishing gravity, and tasked with the mining of xinium particles, vital to space travel. This unstable empire is beset by an unknown Enemy. The Long War against this Enemy has continued for a generation with an almost unbroken chain of defeats. Faced with total annihilation, the ministers of the Gongyue Government have placed their hope in a secret project, a new type of ship using experimental technology. After years of research and development the ship is ready; all that remains is finding a crew.
Chapter 1
Admiral Song was browsing the news of the day, summoning and dismissing one image after another with a careless wave of his hand. These were official newscasts from the capitol world of Zhongxing, brought in special by an unmarked transport with an encrypted navicomputer that required three days to plot a course. Three-day-old news was a small price to pay for secrecy, after all. The talking heads went on and on about cultural festivals, Ren-Mei cooperation, and how the war effort had finally turned the corner. All lies of course.
Song sipped his tea and cursed, lukewarm; he had been at this longer than he intended. He ran his finger over a rough patch on his desk, easily missed by one not looking for it, and summoned the uncensored reports. The strip used a few fresh skin flakes to authenticate his security clearance and compiled his genetic code down to a level exact enough to catch a cloned spy.
A paranoid part of Song's mind worried that his security clearance had been revoked and the project would be shuttered. It was irrational, of course. They wouldn't shut down the project, not now, with the final prototype so close to completion. A few uneasy moments passed as the computer ran through the authentication process.
Perhaps he'd been right to worry. Perhaps the Central Committee did not believe in his project after all. Song wondered if some political reshuffling on a world half a galaxy away had finally stripped him of his authority before he was granted access with a soft satisfying hum. He let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.
It was all there: casualty reports, shipyards that struggled to meet the quotas set by the Logistics Office, minutes from the meetings of the same where blame was passed around like a ball from some macabre sport, suppressed labor demonstrations from Mei sectors, and most worrying of all, ships sent out on patrol that never returned.
The numbers were month to month and year to year, painting an eloquent portrait of the coming disaster. Even with Chairwoman Cao’s fiscal sorcery they’d be totally insolvent within a decade. Outlying worlds fell uncontested, and even the victories lauded in official channels were better described as indecisive skirmishes.
Song had been observing these trends for years. At times he feared he was the only one who could see the end coming. If nothing changed they were all dead. If.
"The candidate is ready to see you, sir," a voice said over the intercom.
He started a bit at that. "Excellent. Please send her in," he said. Song relaxed for a moment. No point in worrying now. The die is cast.
Song stood to his feet as a woman entered the room. She looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties, standard military haircut, pretty normal looking, all things considered. The one thing that stood out to Song was her small eyes. They scanned his whole office in a split second before settling on him. Fast eyes, fast mind.
Her build was typical Ren, tall and slender, shaped by the low gravity of Zhongxing, so different from the planet their kind originally evolved on, back when Zhongxing was Huoxing, or Mars in the dominant language of that day.
"Good afternoon, Lieutenant Commander Wen. I trust you know why you're here," Song said, gesturing to a seat in front of his desk.
"Thank you, Admiral, but I'm not sure what I could have done to merit all of this," the woman said.
She sat down and scratched at her uniform collar, a stiff navy blue number that might’ve never been worn before. This meeting had been arranged in haste and anybody could tell it wasn't ordinary business. She would be on edge, but that was to the good. Now to get her measure.
"I think we both know why you're here, Commander, but I'd like to hear your side of the story before I pass judgment."
She’d been in action only days ago and he had personally sent the orders to bring her here. Her military record, her psychological evaluations, everything matched what they needed. But those reports could be inaccurate. He had to make sure. This was it. Would she be who they needed her to be?
"I'm not sure what I did wrong, Admiral. If this is about that action last week, I know I didn't have orders to fire but I had the shot and I took it," Wen said carefully.
"Interesting. Could you explain your reasoning?"
"This isn't the first time I've done something like this."
"All the same, Commander, I'd like to hear it. Give me your version of what happened."
She exhaled, straightened her posture and steeled her expression.
"It was a routine op. Our squadron was shifting from system to system looking for Enemy activity. We ran into a small Enemy battle group in an uninhabited sector. They spotted us, realized we outnumbered them, and started to run. They were well outside our effective range and we didn't have much hope of catching them before they shifted out, so the Captain didn't order us to pursue.
"I was at my gunnery station and noticed the last one was slow to turn. We had been in system for a while and the main gun was locked and loaded. It was a long shot but I had the perfect angle. I only needed the Enemy ship to maintain its course long enough for my shot to connect. Their shields were down so one hit was all it would take."
Song raised an eyebrow. "You took the shot?"
"I took the shot. One enemy dreadnought down."
Good initiative, a little rash though. "You realize that's dangerous, don't you, Commander? You fire when the Captain doesn't mean for you to and you endanger everyone."
"We weren't in danger; they were running!" she said emphatically.
"You believe yourself qualified to make that judgment? You think you're command material?” he pressed her.
She paused, looking unsure of herself once more.
"I don't think that's my call, sir,” she said, deflating.
"You're right. It's my call."
"Your call? But sir, with all due re
spect, aren't you an engineer? Logistics isn't ordinary Navy."
"We make the ships. I might have a ship for you."
Her eyes narrowed. "A ship for me? I've applied to the Command Course twice a year since I left the Academy. I got my latest rejection months back."
"I might have a ship for you, depending on how you answer my next question."
"Sir?"
"Why do you think you were rejected?"
"With respect sir, I know why."
"Well?"
"I'm too aggressive. I take risks. A dreadnought is an expensive piece of military hardware. I'm not the kind of person High Command would trust with one."
"And your mother was never popular,” Song added. Mustn’t forget the political angle.
She sighed. "And my mother was never popular. If she didn't pull that stunt while I was in the Academy she might’ve been relieved."
"She's been dead several years now. What a waste."
"Well, there is a war on, sir. I imagine lots of people's mothers are dead," Wen said coolly.
"Even so, your mother in particular is sorely missed, by some of us, anyway. It was her strategy that has kept us in this war for so long. She was one of our best. Damned foolish thing we did sending her on that suicide mission. Well, perhaps you can make up for all that."
"Sir?"
"High Command fears you would be too much like her."
"I've considered that possibility."
"As have I, Captain." She'll do. She must.
"Captain!?"
"I do believe I have a ship for you, but not a dreadnought,” he said brightly.
"Not a dreadnought? A transport then?"
She looked disappointed. Admiral Song held up his hand.
"This is going to require some explanation. We're preparing to change our strategy in the war. Since the failure of the First Offensive we've been using your mother’s, that is, Admiral Wen's strategy of avoiding large scale battles, moving our ships around in small squadrons, forcing the enemy to spread out their fleet in an attempt to engage us. 'He who defends everything defends nothing' and all that. We've established local superiority on numerous occasions and inflicted some losses, more losses than we've taken at any rate, though proportionally it's about even.
"This strategy has slowed them down and taken some of the pressure off our colonies. It's even allowed us to land some marine units behind Enemy lines and contest their occupation of our worlds. Production has been increasing but it's just not enough. Their numeric advantage is still decisive. We need the initiative back or we're finished."
Song locked eyes with her and Wen held his gaze. "And how do we do that?" she asked.
"That's where you come in. It's true that you don't really have the psychology for a dreadnought. Dreadnought combat is tactically limited. Make one mistake or break formation and suddenly you've been flanked and lost half your fleet. Every movement must be measured and deliberate. Even our best dreadnought captains cannot avoid being enveloped if the enemy brings their superior numbers to bear, which they do at any opportunity."
"So if we can't out-produce them how do we deal with their numbers?"
"What if I told you that there's a new kind of ship for a new kind of warfare? Dreadnoughts aren't the only way to fight in space. As near as we can determine nothing but a dim record of the last galactic conflict survives, and that war was fought with dreadnoughts. Naval warfare hasn't evolved since then because there's been no reason. Now we have a reason. Dreadnoughts are slow and predictable. I’ve got something better for you."
"A ship that can fight outnumbered and win? Where do I sign up?"
It might’ve been a trick of the light but Song could’ve sworn Wen looked just like her mother when she asked that. "You've already been selected. Now, I think it's time for you to see your ship, Captain Wen."
Song stood up and made his way to the door.
She scrambled to her feet. "What, now?"
"No time like the present, Captain. A Captain needs her ship, after all."
"I don't think I'll ever get used to that. I've been a terminal Lieutenant Commander for years."
"Then I think you're about due for a promotion. Let's get going."
Admiral Song led her deeper into the facility at a brisk pace. The station was organized as a series of concentric rings with plenty of restricted corridors branching off the main thoroughfare. They avoided those and kept to the main path. The two of them proceeded in silence for a time, with Wen following Song's lead.
"I had no idea we had anything like this," she said after a while.
"A necessity, I fear,” Song said as a guard waved them through a checkpoint. “The Gongyue Government has been building Dark Facilities like this for years. It's all part of the plan to decentralize production. We lost too many shipyards in the early days. There's a lot of dark space in between stars to hide things. As much of a pain as it's been to relocate everything important to the middle of nowhere, I think it's been worth it."
"This doesn't look like a shipyard. It doesn't look like anything. The transport that brought me looked like it docked at at a black hole."
"Ah, that would be due to the EM absorptive polymer that coats the whole station. Very expensive, but you can’t put a price on secrecy. This Facility is impossible to find using conventional means. We take no chances. You need a special scanner to even approach without hitting something. All classified, by the way, you didn't hear that from me."
She smiled for the first time. "My lips are sealed, sir. But still, I don't see how a place like this could function as a shipyard."
"This isn't a shipyard, not exactly, though we do have some facilities along that line for producing prototypes, nothing as large as a dreadnought, mind you, but we do have other irons in the fire."
"Like my ship?"
"Among other things, yes,” he replied enigmatically.
"Is that what it is? Is my ship made from those EM-absorbing polymers? Some kind of invisible stealth ship?"
"Oh no. Those polymers are no good for combat. They have a bad reaction with massive light shields. Besides, it's not impossible to triangulate a ship's location from its fire pattern. An experienced gunnery officer like yourself should know that."
"Then what is it?"
"Patience, Captain, we're getting there, just a few more checkpoints."
They walked and talked for a while longer before, finally, they reached a guard station larger than the others they’d passed on their way, staffed by Ren marines in intimidating black uniforms with flechette guns at the ready. Their conversation came to an abrupt halt and Song gave them his pass. Authentication took long enough to become awkward until, mercifully, the credentials passed the electronic check and the duty officer allowed them through without saying a word.
Song paused a moment to collect himself. He hated those checkpoints. Surely, they recognized his face by now? It was his project. But no, he’d had to go through security like everyone else, for the whole length of the project. Never mind that it was a closed facility and unauthorized personnel had no way of even getting to the station. The forms of Gongyue bureaucracy had to be obeyed.
"It's not often you see Ren marines. The ones I've served with in the past have been mostly Mei," Wen said once they were out of earshot.
"As I said, we take no chances. Only the most politically reliable guards are allowed here. I think that duty officer is the nephew of somebody on the Central Committee now that you mention it."
"Seems the type. I thought I recognized him from the search they gave me when I was brought here. They took a hair sample, saliva sample, and made me put on a new uniform, what a pain."
"Captain—"
"No chances. I get it. So where's the ship?"
Song indicated a lift at the end of the anteroom and they took it down into an enormous drydock. What stood before them was a ship in the likeness of a dreadnought, but much smaller. It was a great cylinder made up of segmented rings which tapered
towards the front and terminated in a single cannon.
Wen wilted visibly. "It seems—"
"Small?" said a voice with a strange, flat accent. "You mean me or the ship? I'll have you know my height is well above average for people born on Jupiter Tiandao!"
An exceedingly short Mei woman with light brown skin and hair in a messy bun approached them from under the structure.
"Captain Wen, allow me to introduce Professor Dona Bruzio, project lead," Song said.
"What happened to high security?" Wen asked, nonplussed.
"I have the highest security clearance you can get, girl. Song Ming, this is the one? Doesn't look like much."
"I could say the same about your toy of a ship," Wen said, getting heated.
"Now wait just a min—"
"Ladies, please! This is not the time." Song got between them. Not the most auspicious beginning I could hope for.
"I think it is, Admiral. You can't honestly expect me to fly this thing in combat," Wen said, walking from bow to stern. "What's this? There's no way a ship of this size could take on a dreadnought."
"Not alone, no," Song said.
"Not ever! There's no way this ship could punch through a dreadnought's shields. Your shot would have no room to accelerate. This has got to be a joke. The mass of its own shields would probably tear it apart, and where's the reactor? A dreadnought reactor worthy of the name would take up half the ship. There's no way it could operate independently."
"Your apprehension is understandable, Captain, but you don't have all the information," Song Said. "This isn't going how I intended at all; I brought you here to explain."
"So explain,” Wen demanded.
"Let’s just say the ship is more than the sum of its parts. Professor Bruzio's can tell you more. Dona, if you would?"
"I don't know, Song Ming. These military types lack creativity. Well, I suppose I can dumb it down enough for her to understand,” the short woman said haughtily.
"Dona, please—"
"Okay, okay. Let's start at the beginning." She gave a mocking salute. "Dona Bruzio is the name, Naval R&D, designer of the Mark IV dreadnought and engineering lead on Operation Escalade, namely, this ship you see before you.
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