Constitution: Book 1 of the Legacy Fleet Trilogy

by Nick Webb

  “As I recall, he was not fond of politicians,” she replied, pouring another two fingers of the amber liquid.

  “He’d hobble his way into that capitol chamber, smack a few of the senators upside their heads with his cane, and lecture them about constant vigilance and preparedness. He’d be spinning in his grave if he knew how deep the military cuts were.”

  “Well, we are over seventy years out from the end of the war, and not even a glimpse of the Swarm in all that time. Not even the barest hint. It’s natural that people are letting down their guard. Hell, it was natural to do that forty years ago.”

  “Natural, and stupid.” He finished off his drink and slid the cup back over to the Admiral. “They’re out there, Vicky, and we’re pulling our pants down and pleasuring ourselves, thinking no one is watching.”

  “Well, let’s just hope the Cumrats aren’t voyeurs,” she said with a wink.

  He snorted, and slammed back the second glass she’d poured for him. “We didn’t win the war because we were stronger than them, Vicky. We didn’t win because we were better or smarter. We won because of luck. We won because they up and left for no reason at all. If they hadn’t, Earth would be a graveyard and all our colonies destroyed. If they come back, do you really think we’ll be so lucky? If we’re not prepared....”

  Admiral Yarbrough interrupted. “I agree, Tim. But those are decisions above our pay grade. For now, there’s nothing to do but move on.” She regarded him, and scowled. “Look, it’s not like you’re being forced to retire. You’re only sixty-four, for god’s sake. Why are you treating this like your funeral? There are other commands out there—”

  “But not like the Constitution,” he said, rising to his feet. “Not like the Old Bird. Nothing compares. She’s in a class of her own.”

  “She’s an outdated hulk of mismatched parts and misfit crew members, Tim! She’s the last of the Legacy Fleet—all the rest of them are mothballed or destroyed. She’s way past her prime. It’s time. No young officer in their right mind ever asks for assignment to the Old Bird.”

  He poured himself a third glass and held it up to the light, watching as the blue-tinted overhead lights refracted through the amber liquid. “I did. It was my second assignment back as an ensign forty years ago, and when Adams retired fifteen years ago, I jumped at the chance to go back.”

  She glanced at him skeptically. “You were assigned there because after what you pulled that was the only command they would give you.”

  “How dare you ...” he sneered. Dammit, the alcohol was affecting his verbal filter. He needed to go.

  “How dare I?” She stood up. “Tim, I’ve been far more than accommodating all these years. I’ve looked the other way. I’ve covered for you. I gave you a chance when no one else would. And that’s what you say to my face? How dare I?”

  He only scowled at her.

  “Get off my station,” she said with more force than she meant, for after a moment her face softened. “Report with the Constitution at Lunar Base in two weeks for decommissioning. There’ll be a nice ceremony. Dignitaries, historians, celebrities ... all that shit. You’ll love it. Make a two-minute speech. Eat some expensive hors d’vours. Shake a few hands. Get a little drunk. Then, when it’s over, we can discuss your next assignment.”

  “I hate speeches.”

  “I’ll write it for you, then. Dismissed.”

  “Sir.” He nodded a casual salute, and stepped toward the door.

  “Tim?” She called out to him as he passed the threshold, and he glanced back. “It won’t be so bad. You’ll like one of the newer frigates the shipyards are putting out. They’re faster than any old clunker from last century.”

  He nodded with a thin-lipped smile. It was all he could do.

  If he spoke again he knew he’d regret it.

  Chapter Four

  Veracruz Sector

  Starbase Heroic

  Starbase Heroic was built with one thing in mind: rock solid defense. In the aftermath of the Swarm War, the newly united Earth governments vowed to never be caught unawares again and undertook a massive building program, in parallel with Earth’s reconstruction. At the forefront were a series of defensive outposts at the edge of United Earth space, scattered in the direction of space the Swarm had come from, and among these was Starbase Heroic.

  Admiral Ryten stalked the labyrinthine web of corridors long after the nighttime shift had started, running his hands along the hard steel walls, feeling every pulse, tremor, and vibration from the various ships docking and undocking, the shudder of the power plants deep in the core, the pounding of the marines’ feet as they played basketball on the court two decks above.

  It was like a small city, but one armed with several dozen multi-megaton tactical nuclear torpedoes and hundreds of mag-rail guns and laser turrets. No Swarm fleet would ever make it past the Veracruz Sector. At least, not without paying a heavy penalty.

  He paced the halls because he was worried. The scout ship had left over twenty-four hours earlier, and had not returned. No sign of any report, either. It was damn peculiar—the ship was small and fast enough that if there was any trouble on the other end it shouldn’t have had any problems immediately q-jumping right back to Heroic to raise the alarm.

  Something was wrong. But what could he do, send another scout ship? Lose another dozen crew members?

  The Swarm was gone—he’d been one of the few flag officers entrusted with the top-secret report from IDF intel five years ago. That report formed the basis of the decision by the Eagleton Commission to heavily cut back on military spending. The evidence was incontrovertible—all the Swarm’s former haunts deep within their space were completely and utterly deserted. Entire underground cities left uninhabited. Desolate.

  The top brass at IDF intel assumed they’d all been killed off in some kind of plague or infestation, though the lack of bodies made that hard to prove. But the fact remained that they were gone.

  Ryten continued down the hall, feeling the rising vibration of the power plant as he neared the core of the station, and turned the corner into the Operations Center, saluting the two marines stationed at the entrance.

  “Anything yet, Ensign Taylor?” he asked the woman at communications.

  “No, sir. Nothing from the scout ship, and nothing from the Kerouac.”

  Ryten drummed his fingers on his desk before coming to a decision. “Very well. Prepare a report for IDF CENTCOM. Tell them the details of the situation and ask for guidance.”

  “You think it’s the Swarm?”

  He shook his head. “No. We have reason to believe they no longer pose a threat. But the Russian Confederation?”

  “You don’t really think....” Ensign Taylor trailed off, but Ryten finished her thought.

  “That the Russians would dare start anything? They’ve been blocking our expansion plans for decades now. Every time we bring up the idea of new settlements in the United Earth Council, they veto. I’m starting to wonder if maybe the bastards have got plans of their own out in the border sectors—there’s plenty of habitable planets out there. Plenty of resource-rich territory to exploit and settle. Something tells me that the Kerouac may have stumbled onto one of their secret projects.”

  Taylor bit her lip. “After all this time? I can’t believe they’d risk starting a war over something so petty as resources and territory.”

  “They’ve been doing it for years—undermining the United Earth government, throwing up extra red-tape and bureaucratic nonsense while they go out, establish new colonies and build up their own fleet, separate from IDF. Really, it’s the same pattern over centuries. They never change.”

  Ryten paused, reaching over to check the status of the power plant. As if reading his mind, Ensign Taylor asked, “Are they doing maintenance in engineering tonight?”

  “Not that I know of. So I’m not crazy then? You feel it too?” The throbbing had intensified. It felt just like the customary faint hum of the engines, only magnified sli
ghtly, almost imperceptibly.

  He raised his head to speak through the comm. “Engineering, something wrong with the plant?”

  A voice rang out of the speaker. “No, sir. There seems to be an imbalance in the phase of the generator. That might be why we’re feeling the shudder. I’ll see if we can’t lock down the source of the problem.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant. Ryten out.” He turned to Ensign Taylor. “Wake up the chief engineer. Have him report to engineering.”

  “Aye, sir.” She busied herself with the command. “You think this is related to the missing ships?”

  The rumbling in the deckplate was now intense enough to hear. “I don’t know. But if it is I want to be ready.”

  Chapter Five

  L-2 Lagrange point, Earth

  Conference room, ISS Constitution

  Captain Granger looked up and down the conference table and around the room, trying hard to hide his anger from the equally angry faces of his senior staff.

  “Sir, it’s outrageous. Why now? Why not just wait until our scheduled decommission date?” His XO, Commander Haws, a grizzled old man from whom drifted the distinct odor of the previous night’s self-medicating, pounded a fist half-heartedly on the table. His frayed uniform was slightly disheveled, but at least he hadn’t brought a bottle to the meeting.

  “I know, Abe. It stinks to high heaven. But orders are orders.”

  “Are they just scrapping her? They can’t scrap my baby,” said his Chief Engineer, Commander Rayna Scott, a short middle-aged woman whose uniform was a perpetually greasy set of blue coveralls. She ran a greasy hand through her dull blonde hair. It was hard to tell if the gray speckling fringes came from her age or her work.

  “Ironically enough, that would be too expensive. But the muckety-mucks managed to procure funding from the Smithsonian to turn her into a museum.”

  Silence reigned around the table. Several jaws hung open. Commander Scott covered her face with a hand.

  Commander Haws broke the silence with a vulgar snort. “What a load of lukewarm rat piss. A museum? They’re turning the Old Bird into a goddamned museum?!”

  Granger nodded humorlessly. “It’s my understanding that she’ll be in permanent high-earth orbit just a few klicks from Valhalla Station. Given all the shops they’re building in the new annex ... well, makes it easy for tourists—”

  Another snort from Haws at the word “tourists” silenced Captain Granger, and he grit his teeth as he frowned back at them all. “Look, people, I hate this just as much as you do.” He looked up at the ceiling, which had water damage in several places. “The Old Bird is my home. I started my service to the fleet on the Constitution, and I intended to end it that way. But not like this.”

  Commander Scott cleared her throat. “Cap’n, would you be very disappointed if we suddenly had engine trouble?”

  “What?” Granger cocked his head. She hadn’t mentioned anything in the engineering briefing early in the day.

  “Oh, you know, I mean if we weren’t able to maneuver out to Lunar Base in time due to persistent unexplained engine failure? They’d have to reschedule, and we all know how much time it takes to shuffle the schedules of so many dignitaries and senators....”

  A smile tugged at Captain Granger’s lips. Haws snorted again, but this time with a grunt of approval.

  “Rayna, I ...” he began, but stalled as he saw her dead-serious expression. “You’re a gem. No, I’m afraid this is it. This is goodbye. You’ll all be reassigned”—he turned to Commander Haws—“except for you, Abe. I expect you’ll probably take the plum retirement package they’ll offer you—”

  “Like hell ...” began Haws with a grumble, before Granger cut him off.

  “And I can assure you that you’ll all have the highest recommendation from me.” He looked them all in the eye, one by one. The XO, his diminutive and greasy chief engineer, and the CAG—Tyler Pierce, who’d remained silent and scowling. Standing near the wall were the operations chief, Colonel Hanrahan—who commanded the marine contingent—and the chief medical officer, Doctor Wyatt. Half a dozen other men and women stared back at him from around the table. “It’s been an honor serving with you all, misfits and misanthropes included,” he added with a wink.

  He stood. The rest mirrored him. “One more thing. We’ll be taking on a new officer, Commander Shelby Proctor. She’ll oversee the conversion of the ship to its new, ahem, status. She’s been given operational authority aboard the ship for our remaining time here—hold on, Abe,” he held a hand out to touch his XO’s elbow. Haws had tensed when he mentioned operational authority. “You will all please defer to her. We’ve got to get the ship ready for tourists, you see,” he added, unable to keep the derision out of his voice.

  “Over my dead body. I’m the XO, Tim,” growled Haws.

  The captain sighed. “I wish it were different, Abe. I really do. Just—give her a chance. Let’s make our last few weeks here something we can be proud of.”

  He was tired. More tired than he’d ever been—even during that short bout with cancer five years previous. In a sense, he was relieved to be moving on.

  The officers filed out, followed by Granger and Haws, who grumbled, “Oh, I intend to.”

  Chapter Six

  Sol System, Earth orbit

  Valhalla Space Station

  Admiral Yarbrough glanced out her window at the dance of ships flickering in and out of view, with the blue marble of the Earth in the background. Mostly cargo freighters and crew transfer vehicles, but several large tourist cruise ships sailed among them, bound for one of the outer moons in the solar system or possibly on their way to one of the handful of planets Earth had settled within a few hundred light years or so. Probably Mercia—one of the worlds run by the British government—or Jefferson—an American colony.

  Ha. Colony. Most of the colonies were now larger than their governing nations on Earth. Hell, Jefferson was up to three billion already. And Merida, in the Veracruz Sector? Closer to four billion. They’d even gone so far as to declare formal independence from Mexico—not that the old country could do anything about it, seeing how they had never really fully recovered from the Swarm War.

  A fluttering tone from her desk indicated the arrival of an IDF communique. She waved her screen open and read.

  From: Fleet Admiral Zingano, Commander, CENTCOM

  October 21st, 2650

  Attn: Admiral Yarbrough.

  Vicky, we’re getting strange reports out of the Veracruz Sector. A few colonist transport ships never showed up to Merida and have not reported in. Veracruz Sector is close to Russian Confederation space, and CENTCOM is worried that Confederation President Malakhov has approved the use of covert force to expand Russian interests in the region.

  Dispatch a few intel ships to the Veracruz Sector and figure out what’s going on. Do not engage if the Russians are hostile. The diplomats are all telling me we have nothing to be worried about, including Ambassador Volodin, but all the same, see what you can find out.

  -Bill

  Dammit. Russians. By some stroke of luck, their region of space was mostly spared the worst of the destruction of the Swarm War. Continental Russia fared nearly as bad as North America, but the Russian colonies somehow generally escaped the attention of the Swarm. Perhaps they were too small to notice. Or perhaps the wafting odor of vodka-soaked day laborers bubbled up through the atmosphere and assaulted whatever the aliens used for olfactory sensation.

  Either way, sounded like the people in the Veracruz Sector needed IDF assistance. Why hadn’t Zingano sent the request to Starbase Heroic? Surely Admiral Ryten was closer to the situation and could dispatch ships faster than she could.

  Maybe he didn’t have any intel ships at his disposal. The military cuts from the Eagleton Commission were leaving nothing untouched—even IDF intel services were feeling the pinch. But he was sure to have a few scout ships at least. A Corvette or a Skiff. Just a quick meta-space message to Ryten would get there far fa
ster than q-jumping a couple of intel ships out there, even as quick as the newer ones were—a light-year per hour.

  She looked up and spoke to the comm. “Lieutenant Aelian, prepare an intel ship and meet me in my office in twenty.”

  “Yes, sir,” came the curt reply through the speakers. “Problem?”

  “I hope not. We’ve lost contact with a few colonist transport ships in Veracruz Sector.”

  “Why not send them out from Starbase Heroic?”

  Good, she wasn’t crazy. It didn’t make any sense to him either. “Those are my orders from CENTCOM, Lieutenant. See you in a few.”

  Chapter Seven

  L-2 Lagrange point, Earth

  Captain’s Ready Room, ISS Constitution

  “Commander Shelby Proctor, reporting for duty, sir.”

  Captain Granger forced out a thin smile and tried not to groan as he rose out of his seat. Dammit, he needed exercise. His belly bulged against his uniform, straining the buttons. The desk job was going to kill him one of these days. And for some reason, his chest felt like someone was wringing his lungs with their fists.

  “Commander. Welcome aboard.” He looked her up and down. Young. Fit. Approaching middle age. Black hair but pale skin. Was she Asian? No. Well, maybe an ancestor or two in the distant past. “Has Haws shown you to your quarters yet?”

  Her brow furrowed. “No, sir. Was he supposed to?”

  He muttered a profanity under his breath. Dammit, Haws, it’s not like she’s after your job or something. “He’s been busy.” Holding out a hand to indicate the doorway he continued, “If you’ll follow me....”