Warrior: Book 2 of The Legacy Fleet Trilogy

by Nick Webb

  Avery looked down at her hands folded on her lap. “And you’re proposing what, General? Surrender? Diplomacy? All our overtures are met with static.”

  “I’ve heard rumors the Russians have found a way to communicate with them.”

  Everyone stared at him.

  “My son serves on the ISS Winchester. One of the comm officers. Back during the initial invasion it was carrying Vice President Isaacson and the congressional delegation from Lunar Base back to Earth. Turns out that there was an unauthorized use of the meta-space transmitter. Had all the proper security codes, but no-one on that ship has any memory of transmitting that particular signal.”

  “What was the signal?”

  “Gibberish. But the Russian Ambassador Volodin was on board,” continued Norton. “My son tells me he and Isaacson were quite close during that trip. Holed up in the Captain’s quarters. Maybe you should ask him.”

  Avery nodded. “I will. So the question remains, what do we do about the Polaris Sector. I’m afraid the Mars Project is not quite ready. And besides, we need more information before execution of Operation Battle-ax.”

  Granger nodded. On hearing about the Mars Project, he swelled with a bit of pride in his XO. Proctor had suggested the name for the Mars Project for the same reason the ancient Manhattan Project to develop the first atomic bomb was named the way it was. It had nothing to do with Manhattan, and the Mars Project had nothing to do with Mars. Though both had everything to do with developing frighteningly powerful weaponry.

  Zingano pointed up at the star map on the view panel showing all the star systems in the Polaris Sector. “There are just too many variables out there. Thousands of stars. Tens of thousands of planets. And we’re not even sure the Polaris Sector is the right place. We could spend months sending scout ship after scout ship, and still be no closer to learning the whereabouts of the homeworld. No. We need to trace more ships. Lure them into a dozen more raids, and track the last escaping ship like we’ve been doing. That way we can triangulate their source with more resolution. This,” he waved to the star map, “is too much.”

  Avery nodded. Everyone around the table looked as if the conversation were over.

  Granger cleared his throat. “I want to lead a task force out there and take the fight to the enemy.”

  Zingano’s eyes opened wide. “Granger—”

  “Hear me out, sir. We’ve been on the run for months. We completely lost the Cadiz Sector a few weeks ago. Xinhua almost fell a week after that. Nearly one hundred million dead in both. And every engagement costs us dozens of ships and thousands of crew members and pilots. We can’t keep throwing our soldiers through the meat grinder.”

  General Norton snorted. “That would sound very noble if it wasn’t coming from you, Granger. What’s the tally, huh? How many ships have you sent kamikaze? Full-on, brand new heavy cruisers you just throw against them like bricks? What do they call you? The brick-layer?”

  Granger nailed the general with an icy look. “And their sacrifices have given us a fighting chance, General Norton. Let’s keep in mind that they’d die anyway, but this way they die and we actually win a few battles.”

  Norton stood up and pointed down at Granger. “Why, you little piece of shit. Tell that to all the families back on Earth and throughout all the sectors and planets that won’t be getting their kids home next shore leave. And all for a man who we can’t even trust—one likely under either Russian or Swarm influence. Ever remember where you went, Granger? Memory still hazy? How convenient.”

  Avery slapped the table. “Sit down, General.” She glanced at Granger. “He’s got a point, Captain. Our entire society is on a war footing. Every factory and every able-bodied person is churning out ships and shit for our fleets, and here you are burning through them at an alarming rate. Let’s get it under control, please.”

  Granger bit his tongue, and nodded. If they only knew what it was like out there. Under fire. Death all around you. Zingano knew, which was why he’d allowed Granger such wide latitude on his unorthodox tactics. But General Norton? Supreme allied paper pusher. Avery? Tough as nails, but still naive.

  “Point taken. But my point stands. We’re running. Running from one emergency to the next. One invasion to the next. There’s a massive dam here with a billion metric tons of water behind it, breaking out with a thousand gaping cracks, and here we are sticking our fingers and toes in the tiny holes. Morale is sinking. And our resources are finite.”

  Zingano eyed him. “What exactly are you proposing, Tim?”

  “I’ll lead a task force out there. A hundred ships. Maybe more. Put the Swarm on the run. Where they stand and fight with overwhelming force, we withdraw. We target them ship by ship, system by system. Run a scorched earth campaign behind their lines. Distract them. Make them focus on me and my ships, and give our systems and worlds a breather. And while I’m at it, I’ll be deep in their space, sending out scouts and investigating as many leads as I can to locate their homeworld in preparation for Operation Battle-ax.”

  General Norton shook his head. “I don’t like it.”

  Zingano sighed. “It sounds noble, Tim. But foolhardy. The most likely outcome is that all your ships burn. You’ll die within a week without the support of our bases and resupply ships.”

  Silence. All eyes turned to Avery, whose eyes were closed and hands steepled in front of her face.

  “Do it.”

  She opened her eyes and stood up. “You’ve got spine, Granger, and so does your plan.” She shook his hand. “Go destroy them.” She glanced down at the body laying the corner. “Bring back some trophies as proof.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  New Dublin, Eyre Sector

  Bridge, ISS Warrior

  The secret service doubled his security detail. Isaacson thought that having an entourage of fifteen people as he stepped out of his shuttle onto the launch pad at the capitol made the whole process a bit awkward, but he’d get over it. Hal Levin, his chief of staff, pushed through and whispered in his ear, “Just got a note from Avery’s aide. President wants to see you when you get the chance.”

  “She’ll have to get in line.” Isaacson was feeling less charitable toward Avery these days, if it were possible. “I’ve got some actual work to do—troop inspections can wait.”

  They’d landed at the capitol, but his real destination was the military administration building that lay underneath in the vast underground complex that had been excavated and built during the previous decades—a relic of the post-Swarm-war years. Military planners thought that the further underground they were, they safer they’d be.

  Events of the past two months had proven how short-sighted that was. The Swarm’s singularity weapon seemed to be able to penetrate farther into the Earth’s crust than anyone had thought to dig.

  “Does General Norton know I’m coming?”

  Levin nodded. “I spoke to him two hours ago. Just returned from off-planet. He suggested he take you on a tour of one of the military’s ordnance production buildings down underground—thought it might be more interesting than sitting in his office.”

  Isaacson rubbed his forehead—he was still off-balance from the explosion. A tour? Sitting in a comfy admin office chair sounded about right at the moment. “Fine.”

  Conner caught up to him from the rear of the entourage. “Sir, will you be needing anything while you’re down there?”

  Isaacson shook his head. “Not now, son. Go enjoy the day. Should snow later—get home before the streets clog up.” Conner turned to go. “Just go drop off my things at my residence—I think I’ll be staying a few days. And later,” he lowered his voice, “see if you can’t get all those, uh … things, you were going to gather for me in Moscow.”

  “The coffee?”

  Damn. The kid was either very savvy, or very stupid. Guess he’d find out later that night. “Right. The coffee.”

  General Norton met the entourage at an entrance to the subterranean military complex a few
blocks from the capitol. “Mr. Vice President,” he said, eyeing the crowd. “Quite the group you travel with these days.”

  “Targets of political assassinations can’t be too careful now, can we?” he said in as ironic a voice as possible.

  “No, sir. Prudent.” He waved an arm to the door. It was a tiny building, housing just a security office and checkpoint, and an elevator. The guard nodded and saluted as they passed. “I’ve been looking for an opportunity to get you down here. Been so busy lately I haven’t had the chance.”

  “Wars are busy affairs, aren’t they?” Isaacson motioned to half his secret service detail to wait at the checkpoint while he went down into the building proper. “Actually, all of you wait here. You too, Hal.”

  The chief of staff started to protest, but grudgingly complied. “I’m used to running a mobile office for you, anyway. We’ll just run it out of the waiting room for the next few hours.”

  Isaacson rolled his eyes at the sarcasm. He’d meant to find a new chief of staff the previous year, but Levin was good, if cranky. “After you, General.”

  He followed Norton into the elevator shaft. “Munitions,” said the general.

  “You’re going to show me your bombs? Really, General, we’ve got more important things to talk about.”

  Norton glanced at him askance. “Not just the bombs. I’m giving you the full tour. If you ever—god forbid—become president, you need to know your shit. Especially in war-time.” The lift stopped, and the doors opened, revealing a vast, sprawling space filled with equipment, people, assembly lines, and offices filled with whiteboards and books and arguing engineers. “Now, while we walk, what is it you wanted to talk to me about?”

  Isaacson peered down the aisles as they wandered. The expansive room was filled with hundreds of people, all working, assembling, talking, and discussing. Several dozen looked to be assembling small devices, but he couldn’t see what they were building.

  “Several things. Progress on the war effort, for one.”

  “Don’t the President’s advisors keep you updated? They should be giving you the same daily briefings my team and I put together for her.”

  “Oh, of course they do. But we both know that all the information doesn’t make it into the daily briefings.”

  General Norton smiled as they progressed down the aisle. When they reached a quiet corner he nodded. “Sure. The truth is, the war is going badly.”

  “Pft,” Isaacson scoffed. “I knew that.”

  “Badly enough that the President is willing to pursue … desperate measures.”

  “How desperate?” Isaacson stroked his chin. Desperate enough to kill? To bring him in close and then stab him in the back?

  “Desperate enough to order new research on anti-matter.” General Norton waved an arm around the room, indicating the benches full of equipment and teams of people.

  Of course. “Anti-matter research was banned centuries ago. Too dangerous. Weren’t there millions of deaths back in the twenty-second century from anti-matter accidents?”

  Norton nodded. “All in the name of progress, of course. And look what it bought us. Anti-matter power plants. A million times more powerful than fusion. But once we reached that point, research stopped. Too dangerous to go any farther.”

  They kept walking, coming near a team of engineers huddled over a work station full of equipment that looked utterly foreign to Isaacson. Of course, he was never much for science. “Too dangerous, until now.”

  “Exactly.” Norton smiled at a passing manager, a uniformed lieutenant in a lab coat. She nodded back a salute.

  Isaacson stopped next to a young woman on the engineering team—one that looked like she couldn’t be a day over sixteen. “And what’s your name, miss?”

  Her eyes met his and she looked like a deer in the headlights. Apparently VIP visitors were not expected that day. She stood at attention. “Sergeant first class, Lisa Gall, sir!”

  “How old are you, Sergeant?” He put on his politician’s smile and lightly touched her elbow. He could put on the charm better than the old hag, Avery.

  “Nineteen, sir!”

  “And what’s your specialty, Sergeant? What are you doing here?”

  “Drafted two months ago, sir. Was an electrical engineering major at Yale. Drafted into the electrical materials team here at MUNCENT.”

  “Munitions Central,” General Norton clarified. “We only picked the finest to work down here with us in MUNCENT. Sergeant Gall was on track to graduate top of her class, if I remember right.”

  She blushed slightly. “Yes, sir.”

  “And what are you working on, Sergeant Gall?” Isaacson glanced down at her work station. He recognized a few loose resistors and electrical meters, but that was the extent of his technical knowledge.

  She glanced at General Norton nervously, and he nodded. “Designing new electrical containment methods and apparatus for containment of exotic material.”

  Isaacson raised an eyebrow. “Exotic material, huh? Is that what we’re calling anti-matter down here?”

  She looked nervous. “Yes, sir. Specifically, anti-neutrons and anti-protons, conglomerated in more massive forms like anti-tungsten, anti-iridium … that sort of thing.”

  “And? Any progress?”

  She looked down. “Not yet, sir. Electrical containment is … well, it’s problematic. There are better ways to do it, but we’ve got to explore every method. Just in case.”

  General Norton saluted; she returned the salute and sat back down to work. They continued walking. Isaacson saw another table full of small spheres with a team of engineers hovering over, picking them up, scanning them, inspecting them, taking notes….

  He cocked his head. “General, are those….”

  “Bombs?”

  “Yes. Are those bombs? Are you actually making bombs down here?”

  Norton nodded. “Of course. This is the military’s premier research and development facility. What gets deployed in the field gets developed here.”

  Isaacson felt the color drain from his face. “You’re telling me that you’re manufacturing anti-matter bombs right here? Under the friggin’ capitol building?”

  The general laughed. “Mr. Vice President, I assure you, we are all completely safe. There is no actual anti-matter here. The hardware is designed, manufactured, assembled, and tested here. About a thousand per month. The anti-matter is added later. At more … secure facilities.”

  Isaacson nodded. “Good. I’d hate to lose D.C. on the eve of victory,” he said, with a wry grin.

  They kept walking. “And, Mr. Vice President? What else did you want to talk to me about?”

  He glanced all around them before continuing. They’d drifted away from any workers, so Isaacson stopped walking and turned to the General. “Does the president have any enemies in the military? Hell, do I have any enemies? Is there someone who would want not only her, but me, dead?”

  Norton frowned. “Let me make one thing clear, Mr. Vice President. The military is here at the service of the civilian government. We do not involve ourselves in politics. Ever. Period. It’s been a strictly guarded tradition in the United Earth government, and in the League of Western Nations before that, and in the United States before that. We serve, we fight, we protect. Nothing more.”

  Isaacson rolled his eyes. “Nice speech, General. Now answer my question.”

  Norton glared at him. “I just did, Mr. Vice President. You and your buddies in the senate and congress and over in the administration are the ones who play your back room games. My focus is on Earth’s safety, and the safety of United Earth and its fifty-five worlds. End of story.”

  Isaacson held up a hand. “I’m sorry, General, I did not mean to suggest you had anything but the purest of motivations. But surely, if there were any whisperings of discontent against Avery within the military, you’d be the one to hear it?”

  The general stared at him. “There are always rumblings. Always discontent. Hell, any young pr
ivate will bitch and moan at you about his current assignment. The boots are too heavy. The paperwork too thick. The red tape too ridiculous. The quarters too small. The toilets too smelly. The coffee too bitter. We’re military. We complain about shit. It’s our birthright. But when the rubber hits the road, we get our asses in gear and defend our country and our planet and our civilization without a peep. Are there rumblings against Avery? Of course. Half the military hates her. Rumblings against you? Bet your ass there are. The other half hates you. Does that mean you’re going to wake up with a knife in your back? Well if you do, it won’t be from the military. It’ll be some punk-ass politician’s knife, and the blade will be poisoned. On the other hand, piss someone like me off, and it will be a bullet. To your face. With me standing square in front of you, and you’ll be armed too.”

  Isaacson put on his best politician’s smile. “Tell me, where is the anti-matter added?”

  The change in subject threw the general for a loop. “Excuse me?”

  “The bombs. Where do they add the anti-matter? It’s not here, obviously, or anywhere near the capitol. Where?”

  “Classified.”

  Isaacson wiped the smile from his face, replacing it with a cold, calculating politician’s glare. “Tell me. Now.”

  Norton shook his head. “Under a mountain in Wyoming. I’ll tell the colonel you’re coming.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  New Dublin, Eyre Sector

  Bridge, ISS Warrior

  He lifted his head, and saw the medical equipment all around him. His eyes rested on something he hadn’t seen before—a window. Starting near the floor and as tall as a person. And beyond it….

  Space. Stars. And if his eyes didn’t lie, a planet, far below. He couldn’t make out any more detail beyond the fact that it had an atmosphere. He tried to move—to stand, to go to the window and look out to see where he was.