by Evan Currie
ALSO BY EVAN CURRIE
Odyssey One Series
Into the Black
The Heart of Matter
Homeworld
Out of the Black
Warrior King
Odysseus Awakening
Odysseus Ascendant
Odyssey One: Star Rogue Series
King of Thieves
Warrior’s Wings Series
On Silver Wings
Valkyrie Rising
Valkyrie Burning
The Valhalla Call
By Other Means
De Oppresso Liber
Open Arms
The Scourwind Legacy
Heirs of Empire
An Empire Asunder
The Atlantis Rising Series
The Knighthood
The Demon City
The Superhuman Series
Superhuman
Superhuman: Countdown to Apocalypse
Other Works
SEAL Team 13
Steam Legion
Thermals
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2019 by Cleigh Currie
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by 47North, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and 47North are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781542004862
ISBN-10: 1542004861
Cover design by Mike Heath | Shannon Associates
CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Prologue
Star Forge Alpha, Inner Sol Orbit
Commander Stephen “Stephanos” Michaels walked the long curving corridors of the new stellar base, rather enjoying the feel of the first human-built platform that had the advantages of Priminae technology behind it. He liked human construction—or “Terran construction” to be precise, he supposed—as a rule.
The Priminae were fond of ceramics as their primary work material, and in fairness they had access to some exceptional variations of that material. For Steph, however, steel was king.
Luckily, metals were cheap once you had access to the solar system. Even more so when you had even the beginnings of a Kardashev Class Two Network propagating itself through the system. The replicating machines that consisted of the admiral’s first line of defense for Sol were also exceptional miners.
Steph glanced at the camera as he approached the security door, letting it scan his biometrics, and didn’t pause or slow his pace as the door locks disengaged. It slid smoothly open in time for him to pass from the transit corridor into the main flight hangar.
Life had changed since the showdown with the Empire; it had gotten a lot less exciting in some ways, but a lot more fun from his perspective.
“Commander.” Alexandra Black nodded in his direction as he approached. “Morning.”
“Good morning, Alex.” Steph smiled. “It’s a fine one, isn’t it?”
She smirked. “I doubt you’d be as chipper if you weren’t on the flight schedule today.”
“Chipper? Really?” he asked, amused. “How rather British of you, Commander Black.”
Alexandra rolled her eyes, shifting the subject. “Any idea what this one is going to be?”
Steph shook his head. “Afraid not. We’ve been running through so many design concepts in the last few months that I’ve lost track, but this one is coming down the pipe from Gracen’s office, so I’m looking forward to it.”
Alex frowned. “Don’t know the admiral that well.”
“She’s good people,” Steph said. “And effective.”
“That’s always a good sign,” Black said, rising up from her position as her eyes looked over Steph’s shoulder.
Steph noticed her stiffening to attention and automatically did the same himself, not turning around.
“It is, isn’t it?” Admiral Amanda Gracen said crisply as she stepped into view, nodding to Steph. “And for what it’s worth, Steph, the word is that you’re good people too. Effective? Well, we’ll have to see about that.”
“Yes ma’am,” he said curtly.
What else was there to say?
“It’s a pleasure to see you.” Gracen smoothly shifted to business. “As you both know, we’ve been testing new high-mobility platforms since the standoff at Luna.”
They nodded. The pair of them had been testing new designs for manned and unmanned combat craft and delivering reports on the weaknesses and strengths of the new platform designs for some time. The new projects had been ongoing since shortly after the military standoff was ended by the deployment of Earth’s captured heliocannon against Imperial targets, in fact. It wasn’t the same as a deep-space deployment, but it was work that both pilots were enthusiastic about, enjoyed intensely, and knew would be absolutely vital to Earth’s continued defense.
Prior to the last few battles that led to the standoff, light high-mobility craft had been considered obsolete compared to the sheer power of an Odysseus Class battle cruiser. Both Steph and Alex had been integral to proving that manned and unmanned fighters still had a place in modern doctrine. That had bought them their new jobs while many of their compatriots enjoyed extended leave. Since the two would either have been flying anyway while on leave or bored to tears, neither was complaining about the work.
“Your reports on the new designs have been invaluable,” Gracen told them. “And, in fact, your findings were all funneled into the design specifications for the project you’ll be testing today. The project lead has been most appreciative of your hard work.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” the two said as one.
“At ease, both of you,” Gracen ordered, gesturing past them toward the secure hangar. “Shall we?”
With Gracen leading the way, Steph and Alex followed along while most of the admiral’s staff remained behind. At the secure hangar access, Gracen let the system scan her biometrics but then followed it up with a code that unlocked the doors and let them through.
Inside the secure zone, a lot of work was in progress, and the frenetic energy of the hangar had multiple areas competing for attention. Both pilots’ gazes locked onto an object in the center of the hangar, eyes widening as they took it in.
The design was unlike anything either had seen, let alone flown. It looked too sleek to be Terran or Priminae space design, and it certainly wasn’t anything remotely like what the Imperials had fielded during the conflict.
Steph recognized the telltale sheen of cam-plate armor, but that was about all the design had in common with anything he’d ever encountered. The craft was gorgeous.
A sleek needlepoint design bulged out toward the aft, and no signs of external hard points were evident anyw
here. The wings were stubby but clearly designed to operate as airfoils, and as they got closer, Steph realized that he couldn’t see any sign of a cockpit canopy.
“Is it a drone?” he asked the admiral.
“No, it’s a functional prototype that’s almost ready to go to full production,” she answered. “Operated by small crews with a primary function as a fighter/bomber, but with extended operational ability.”
“Never seen anything like it,” Steph said. “Priminae design from the archives?”
“Negative.” Gracen shook her head. “And the uniqueness of the design is intentional. We’re pairing this design with a small logistics vessel to outfit a squadron for deep-black runs.”
Steph frowned pensively for a moment as he considered that, but Alex got it first.
“You’re setting up a . . . privateer force?” she asked, uncertain.
“Not precisely, but close,” Gracen confirmed. “More a covert operations group . . . a well-equipped covert operations group. I want you two to run this prototype through the final testing phase. Everything should be in order, but there are a few new systems incorporated that require a top-to-bottom test before I give the final production clearance.”
“How long do we have?”
“Not long,” Gracen told Steph with a serious purse of her lips. “Admiralty does not believe that the Empire will stay cowed for long. They aren’t the type.”
Steph nodded, knowing that was the truth. He walked around the fighter, examining it from all directions before finally giving up.
“How the hell do we get into this thing?”
“That, Stephan,” a new voice sounded from around them, “is all in a twist of the mind.”
Steph jumped back as a section of the fighter wavered, then flowed apart to reform into a ramp. He smiled a moment later as he recognized the person stepping out of the dark interior.
“Milla!” Steph hugged the smaller form as she alighted on the deck. “I thought you were back on Ranquil!”
“Non.” Milla shook her head. “The admiral asked me to help with the designs for the new class of ships. It was not something I could turn down.”
Gracen snorted softly. “Lieutenant Commander Chans led the project, turning your test results into what you see before you. This is her baby.”
Milla shrugged, a little self-conscious as she turned back to the ship. “It was a pleasure. Stephan, I believe you will like this.”
“You’re bringing fighters back, Milla,” Steph said lightly. “I already love it.”
“It is . . . not the same as your fighter, Stephan, but I believe it will be what is needed now,” she told him as she gestured to the interior of the craft. “Please, after you both.”
Alex and Steph exchanged glances before moving toward the lowered ramp. Steph walked up first into the interior and found himself looking at an almost featureless space. He paused, confused, forcing Alex to step out around him to see for herself.
“Where are the controls?” he asked. “Recessed somewhere?”
“Yes and no,” Milla told him, gesturing in front of her.
An image appeared in the air, displaying an interface that she deftly manipulated.
“It is what your people called ‘quantum locked photons,’” she said. “Or, as I’ve been told, hard light. Somewhat of a misnomer, I’m afraid, but it does provide tactile feedback from the projection system.”
“Holographic controls?” Alex winced. “Last I checked, those weren’t cleared for mil-spec use in field combat.”
“They still aren’t,” Gracen said from the entry to the craft. “The control system here is something . . . else. Lieutenant Commander, see them through it, yes?”
“Of course, Admiral,” Milla responded quickly.
“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Gracen said, nodding at the salutes she received before stepping out.
Steph refocused on the interior of the craft, an eagerness in his gaze as he looked it over.
“Alright then, Milla . . . show us what’s under the hood.”
Imperial Capital, World Garisk
Jesan Mich stood silently in the midst of the gathered nobles, enduring the scowls and disdain thrown in his direction without outward emotion.
Inwardly, however, was a different matter entirely. He noted several who he knew to be fitting their weapons for a shot at his undefended flank, both literally and figuratively. He would have to deal with them when he got a chance.
If he got a chance.
The empress was not looking in his direction, listening instead to the words and accusations being flung at him while he was bound not to respond.
He had known this would happen when he ordered the retreat from the unknown race’s homeworld. But dishonor was the lesser evil in his mind compared to the stupidity of risking vital resources against whatever superweapon the Terrans had deployed against his forces.
His mind still wracked itself over what he had seen out there at that alien star.
Pure energy, barely formed into a coherent mass, had torched a ship under his command from nowhere.
He’d lost more than his share of ships and men in the past, but to lose too much to such an unknown factor, well, that ate at him.
Where did that beam come from? A stealth vessel?
It didn’t make sense. Nothing could hide while unleashing that much power. By nature that level of pure force was the very antithesis of stealth.
And then there was the military facility destroyed here, in the Empire, at the same time.
He’d confirmed that as soon as he returned to Imperial space, of course, half-afraid until then that he had been manipulated by the Terrans. But the conflagration had been real, an entire set of slips burned in fire from sources unknown.
The Empire had to have that weapon.
“An example must be made!”
Jesan brought his attention back to the situation at hand, forcing himself to focus on the byplay between the nobles. There would be consequences, he knew. No Imperial Fleet retreated without consequence, not in the entire long history of the Empire. He just hoped that his cause would be enough to forestall the ultimate consequences, at least for now.
Anything short of summary execution could be risen from, with the appropriate level of work and daring and luck.
“Execute the man for rank cowardice!”
There it was. Jesan felt a chill in his blood.
Lord Gith Ver, an old . . . friend . . . had been the first to voice such an opinion. Jesan made note of that, but it was hardly the first time he’d had to mark Ver as a foe. Once the words had been spoken, however, the murmurs began and started to build. There was nothing he could do but endure the talk, as any attempt to defend himself would only be adding oxygen to the flames.
Instead he looked to the empress, trying to get a feel for her mood. An exercise in futility. Her Highness had not survived the highest levels of the Imperial Court as long as she had by revealing even the slightest hint of her emotions without damned good cause.
Cause, it seemed, she did not have at this point.
So he listened to the demands for his life, exercising his own control to keep his expression stoic and as free of care as he could while his guts churned and threatened to eat him up from the inside.
“Enough.”
Jesan started, as did most of the others in the room, as the empress made herself known, ending the debate. He looked to see her turning her focus on him as he froze in place, the deep, churning anxiety dying in him as it was replaced by an icy pit.
“Former Lord Jesan will not be executed,” she said, both relieving him and causing his stomach to drop. “We have reviewed the mission recordings, and none of you have offered a better solution than the former lord decided upon. Asking for his execution in a situation that you would have failed at, at least in equal portion as he, is an act of weakness.”
Jesan winced slightly, almost feeling bad for the men and women clamoring for his life.
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In other levels of Imperial culture, the empress’ words might be overlooked, but in the Imperial Court, calling out the nobility for weakness was an insult worthy of challenge. He didn’t envy any who sought to challenge the empress, however. There were reasons she had long held her title against all comers, her father’s blood running in her veins least among them.
Silence fell as he locked his eyes on the throne behind Her Highness, waiting for the pronouncement he knew was coming.
“Former Lord Jesan will be stripped of his noble responsibilities,” the empress intoned, “but will remain in rank.”
Jesan’s eyes widened a hair, as soft murmurs started again around him. Her Highness ignored both as she went on.
“This discussion has ended,” Her Highness decreed, rising to her feet. “And court is closed. Former Lord Jesan, remain. You will be given your new assignment.”
Jesan bowed his head and remained in place as the room emptied.
Imperial Court, Inner Chambers
Jesan walked into the inner chamber of Her Highness at court, dropping to one knee in the center of the room automatically, though he was alone. He waited there, motionless, for several long moments before the door opened to reveal the empress’ bodyguards.
They secured the room with care while he remained in place until finally the bodyguards cleared the empress to enter.
“Former Lord Jesan,” she said softly. “How the mighty have fallen.”
“I failed, Your Majesty,” Jesan replied, head bowed. “Nothing less could be expected.”
“I still recall the young buck who told my father, in all confidence, that he would succeed where all others had failed . . . and then went on to do exactly that against the Pierman warlords. Father had made a note to have you killed when you failed then, did you know that?”
Jesan shook his head. “No, I did not, but in retrospect it is not something that surprises me.”
The empress sighed, taking a seat before him. “I find myself in a difficult position. I rather like you, Jesan. I always have; after all, any who had the nerve . . . or the lack of intelligence, I suppose, to challenge my father while he sat on his own throne, is sure to be entertaining. In that, I must say, you have never failed me. Still, this entertainment is hardly worth the cost to the Empire.”
