Independence: Book 1 of The Legacy Ship Trilogy

by Nick Webb

  A pause. “Just follow me.”

  “Fine. Lead the way.”

  Much to Batak’s chagrin the loss of the stabilizing thrusters meant the ascent was far rougher than the descent through the atmosphere, but it only lasted a few minutes as before long they were maneuvering into a gleaming-new IDF starship, that nevertheless looked like it had seen some intense action recently—there were several patched holes in its shining hull.

  They landed in the shuttle bay. He flipped off the engines, and they stood up. “Well?” he started. “Masks on, or off?”

  “Does it matter?” She asked.

  “Touché. Let’s go.” He glanced out the viewport and saw a squad of marines surround the shuttle, assault rifles at the ready. Well, shit. “This doesn’t end well,” he grumbled. “Look, stay in here while I talk to them. Just in case.”

  “In case of what?”

  “You know. Big guns.” He flash a lopsided smile he didn’t quite feel.

  The ramp lowered, and he descended, with his hands in the air. A pair of marines sprang forward and slapped cuffs on his wrists and pushed him away from the ramp, towards the exit. “There’s a civilian in the shuttle. She has nothing to do with this—just an innocent bystander—”

  “Get them in the brig. Questions can wait,” said a familiar voice over the comm speaker. Zivic glanced around for its source as it continued. “And get that shuttle out of the way. The Admiral will be here in a moment—I’m just on my way to go get her.”

  Zivic saw him. Up in the CIC, overlooking the fighter bay.

  “Dad?”

  Captain Volz’s eyes widened, and he stared at him for a moment, before rushing out of the CIC, down the stairs, and marched straight toward him, fire in his eyes. He looked Zivic over and reached out to tear the mask off. It hurt more than he thought it would.

  His father glared at him, and cleared his throat. “Lieutenant Ethan Zivic, you are under arrest.” He turned to the marines. “Get his ass in the brig.”

  “For what?” Zivic protested.

  Volz reared on him—Zivic worried that he’d punch him, like last time. “For being an utter dipshit asshole. And breaking any number of IDF regulations, and possibly for murder.”

  “But I—”

  Volz held up a hand to cut him off. “No more excuses, Ethan. Time to stop running from responsibility.” He turned and marched back to the CIC. “Take them to the brig.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Irigoyen Sector, San Martin System, San Martin

  Galactic People’s Congress safehouse, Ciudad Libertador

  “You don’t know where your damn stolen nukes are?” Proctor struggled to contain her anger. She was no longer half tempted to grab her marine’s sidearm and blow Curiel’s face off. She was full-on two-halves tempted.

  Curiel held up his hands defensively. “Just one of them. And in my defense, it’s the one that was least operational of the ten. Without some serious technical skill, that thing is staying inert.” He trailed off, as if realizing how stupid he sounded. She raised an eyebrow at him. “Though, the bad news is, it’s a MIRV. Fifteen actual warheads on it.”

  She swore. “I would think that if this shadowy organization you’re pissing your panties about knows enough to be able to steal two nukes, hijack a freighter using a mysterious ship with supposed stealth technology, and is able to hack into and jam my state-of-the-art comm device,” she held up her handset and shook it, “that they would have the technical know-how to be able to reassemble a bomb whose basic design and components have been around for seven hundred years!”

  He gave another shrug—in a motion she’d come to call ‘the penguin salute’—both arms stiff and semi-outstretched from his sides. “I’m sorry, Admiral. I know it’s hard to recognize right now, but this is bigger than any single missing nuke—”

  She waved him off. “Please tell me you’ve got the other eight secure. Please tell me you’re not a complete ignoramus.”

  He nodded solemnly. “They’re secure. My best, most trusted people are guarding them until we can offload them into your … capable hands.”

  “Well thank god for that.” She glanced around at his entourage, most of whom were shifting uncomfortably on their feet, apparently unaccustomed to seeing their boss brow-beat like this. Except for the few that were obviously not there in a state capacity, but rather because they were highly ranked within the Grangerite … faith, if that was the right word. Those people were watching her with near-adulation. Apparently she’d met their expectations. Good. Maybe that would make them more pliable. “Are the nukes here? On San Martin?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I’ll take them off your hands within the day, if I can manage it. First I need to get to the Independence. Have the authorities responded yet? Is the street safe?” She turned to her marine. “Have you gotten through yet?”

  “Making progress, ma’am. Looks like whatever they’re using to hack into our system is finally running up against active counter measures from the Independence. Our IT team must be fighting back.”

  She turned back to Curiel. “I want everything you have on Danny. Everything on his ship. Sensor data, ship logs, maintenance reports, comm traffic logs, dossiers on his shipmates, and I understand he had a girlfriend who you may know.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Had?”

  “She’s dead.”

  The tightening of his jaw told her he hadn’t known, and the news was distressing. “What?” She continued. “Was she a plant? She worked for Admiral Mullins at CENTCOM Bolivar. Was she one of yours too?”

  He nodded. “Not exactly loyal to the GPC, or to IDF, for that matter. She was … complicated. That’s why Danny liked her, I suppose. But she’d feed us info occasionally, and I know she’d do the same for Mullins.”

  “So if she wasn’t loyal to you, or to Mullins, who was she loyal to?”

  He shrugged.

  “There’s an awful lot you don’t know, Mr. Secretary, for someone who’s at the head of a galactic conspiracy to take down the legitimate government of United Earth.”

  “That is not what we’re trying to do. We want independence and self determination. Freedom.” He glowered at her. “We’ve had enough of your wars. Dying for your nationalistic causes. You try to make us hate the Russian Confederation, the Chinese, the Caliphate. And their leaders get their people to hate us back. It’s a circle of hate, Admiral, spurred on by those in power—those with the most to lose if it all comes crashing down and the truth exposed. And we want out. We want off the merry-go-round.”

  Oh, please. She had no idea what else to say to such paranoid lunacy.

  “Oh please. I’ve been saving Earth from slimy shit aliens since you were a snot-nosed whiny kid wishing he were tall enough to play with the big boys.” He was about to protest, but she cut him off before he even started. “No. I’m not getting into a political argument with you. You get me the nukes before the day is out, and you get me that data, and I’ll think about cooperating with you to help track down these people aiming for my head.”

  He glanced at his people. The aide closest to him shrugged, as if they were silently continuing a conversation. “We honestly have no idea why they’re targeting you, Admiral. Whoever they are. It’s clear to everyone that you’re only back in the game because of the mystery ship, and that your goal is to save Earth. Again. Why these people would be opposed to that, I can’t say.”

  She wanted to say, Well clearly someone doesn’t want me to save Earth, dumbass. But one of the other men chimed in. She assumed he was not one of the aides, but rather one of the Grangerites, from the worshipful expression on his old, wrinkled face. Short-cropped white hair thinly covered a mottled scalp—she guessed he was north of ninety years old.

  “It’s because you’re the Companion of the Hero, ma’am. With all due respect to both you and Secretary General Curiel, you’re a symbol of far more than United Earth’s dominance, or IDF’s aggression against GPC sympathizer worlds
. You’re a symbol of humanity’s ascendence. Its survival. Its destiny. Along with the Hero, you’re the symbol of hope for humanity. Someone wants to destroy that symbol, that hope. Someone wants to demoralize us, to cow us into submission and defeat. Ever since Granger’s ascension two weeks ago, I knew something was coming, to tear us all apart. To divide us. It was foretold.”

  “Foretold?” She decided to play along, against her better judgement. “By whom?”

  He smiled coyly. “Well, by me. Tobey Huntsman. I’m the Patriarch of the Grangerite faith. Fifteen years ago I had a dream. More than a dream. When I woke up, I knew that what I had seen was not just a nightmare, but was, somehow, reality. What would come to pass after Granger’s ascension, if we were not vigilant.”

  “What was it?”

  He paused, hesitated, as if reluctant to say a word more. “I saw death. Unthinkable destruction. On a scale far greater than the Swarm War. I saw … the end of humanity. And it all started with the ascension. I saw you return, and lead the fight. And … I saw you fail.” His face was pained, as if he wanted to say any other words than the ones he was saying. And hearing them sent a shiver down her spine, in spite of the fact she thought he was a lunatic. “I saw you marshall the defense of humanity, and fail. Earth burned. San Martin burned. Britannia fell. One by one, world by world, we fell. But it wasn’t set in stone. Granger appeared to me, and told me it didn’t have to be that way. Well, he didn’t so much speak to me, as he looked at me, and I understood.” He gathered himself up. “It was made clear to me that in the days to come after the ascension, humanity would be put through its greatest test. And that you would either lead us to victory, or a loss so utterly complete that we would cease to exist.”

  She shrugged. “What’s new? Same old same old. Nothing we didn’t go through thirty years ago.” But she had to know. The curiosity ate at her. “And? What did old Tim say would be the determining factor? How do we get the best odds out of this shit show?”

  He stared at her. Earnestly. So earnestly. It almost took her aback. “You need to remain true to Granger. Trust him. He’ll deliver us again. I know it. I know it.”

  She returned his earnest stare. “Tim Granger … is dead. He died thirty years ago. I swear to you that I will honor his memory, and fight for the things he believed in to my last breath. But Tim is not … coming … back. Life just doesn’t work that way.”

  The Patriarch allowed himself a small smirk. “He came back once. He’ll do so again.”

  “That was different, Patriarch Huntsman. He fell into a Swarm singularity. It was artificial, and entirely controlled by their technology. He reappeared, same old Tim, and our scientists now have a pretty good grasp of how it all happened. He did not die, and come back. He went through a frickin wormhole. Hell, if it weren’t for the ban on singularity research, we could probably reproduce the whole event.”

  The Patriarch smiled warmly. “Admiral Proctor, you think I’m crazy. I know. It’s ok. But I don’t believe in magic. I do believe in a higher power. Before I became the Patriarch, I was a bishop. A Mormon bishop. I believed in God, and I still do. But I know that God uses what tools he has, and in that case, he used Swarm technology to save us. It wasn’t magic. And in this case, He’ll use something … something that will send Granger back to us. Not magic. Not hocus pocus. But He’ll do something to send us our Hero again. You’ll see. You’ll believe me, in the end.”

  An explosion rocked the building, and everyone cowered. A few screamed. Dammit, she’d expected the authorities to get a handle on the situation outside by now.

  Out of all the people cowering, glancing up nervously at the ceiling or towards the walls, she alone stood rigid, smiling down at Patriarch Huntsman and Secretary General Curiel. “The end? Well this could be it, gentlemen.”

  Then the far wall, lined with bunks, boxes, and supplies, exploded inward. Proctor fell behind an overturned table, shoved there by her marine, who aimed his sidearm towards the gaping hole in the wall.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Irigoyen Sector, San Martin System, San Martin

  Galactic People’s Congress safehouse, Ciudad Libertador

  Admiral Proctor squinted through the dusty darkness of the room and watched Rex crawl over to her and the marine behind the table. Everyone else had sought cover, and Secretary General Curiel’s security detail had taken positions on either side of the gaping hole in the wall, shooting at targets outside the building she couldn’t see. Nor did she try to see.

  “We can get you out through the way we came,” said Rex, wincing as a few rounds struck the ceiling nearby.

  She shook her head. “I’ll take my chances with these guys,” she said, indicating the soldiers leaning out of the hole. Somehow, they’d produced a few military grade assault rifles, probably from the storage crates lining the walls. At least it wasn’t just her marine with his sidearm, though what she wouldn’t give for a hundred IDF marines right now….

  One of the soldiers fell back through the hole, cursing, bleeding from his shoulder. An aide to Curiel scrambled over and pulled him back from the wall and into the cover of another overturned table. The door burst open and several more soldiers replaced the man who’d fallen. A hail of gunfire peppered the opening in the wall, and the GPC soldiers responded in kind. Proctor covered her ears.

  Oh god, this could be it.

  A powerful, pulsing whine managed to pierce though the tumult of the gunfire, even through her hands pressed against her ears. It grew louder and louder, until finally something blazed past the opening in the wall, and Proctor only caught of glimpse of it before it passed.

  It looked like an IDF fighter.

  Another darted past the building, and Proctor heard the unmistakable sound of high caliber gunfire coming from the fighters. She hadn’t heard that sound in decades—usually fighters fired their guns out in the silence of space. But these two were having a field day out in the street, making pass after pass, and eventually the assault rifles fell silent, either because they couldn’t be heard over the constant rumble of the fighter’s guns and engines, or because the unknown assailants wielding them were being mercilessly mowed down by shells meant to take out other fighters and capital ships.

  Something chirped nearby. Her marine looked up in triumph, holding the comm device. “Finally got through, Admiral. The jamming is gone, and IT up on Independence broke through the hack.”

  She nodded, grabbing the handset. “This is Proctor. What’s the situation?”

  “Good to hear your voice, Shelby. Hold on….”

  It was Ballsy. And it sounded like he was in a fighter or a shuttle. She didn’t know whether to thank him, or berate him, for putting his life at risk when he should be sending his lieutenants, not himself, a captain, into the fight. What the hell was he thinking?

  One of the fighters outside shot past again, firing its guns, and she heard the unmistakable sounds of exploding buildings nearby. She glanced over at Curiel. “I thought this was your safe house.”

  He nodded angrily. “We’ve been compromised. More than I thought.”

  Clearly.

  The gunfire had ceased completely. Ballsy’s voice blared through the handset again. “I think we got the last of them. I’ve got half my squadron patrolling the streets for three blocks in either direction, and all our marines are down here now, with another five units Admiral Tigre sent over. I’m sending a shuttle in to pick you up. It’s going to nudge up right against that hole. My boys and I will provide cover while you jump in, just in case we missed any hostiles.”

  “Wait, you’re not only down here, but you’re piloting a fighter? What’s gotten into you?”

  He grunted. “Protecting my admiral, and my friend, Shelby. Couldn’t trust the job to anyone else.”

  “Who the hell are they, Ballsy? Who’s shooting at me?”

  Ballsy grunted as he swung around the building—he clearly wasn’t used to the g-forces of a fighter, especially one flying in a gravity wel
l. “Still working on that. They managed to hack into our network and basically used your comm device to track you. Took Mumford forever to break through and block them. And the municipal police force is just overwhelmed—apparently there were a dozen other disturbances around the city at the same time they ambushed you, so the city’s force was stretched thin. Hold on, coming in now. Can you see it?”

  She peered around the table and saw the shuttle descend down from the sky and hold station right next to the hole, hovering a dozen meters off the ground—she hadn’t noticed until then that she was on the third floor of a building. She hadn’t even remembered climbing stairs.

  “Ok Shelby, go. Shuttle’s in position. I’m circling overhead with four other birds, and fifty marines are in the street below. Nothing is getting by us for the next sixty seconds. Go!”

  She eyed the gap between the building and the open shuttle door with apprehension. It was only a few centimeters, but it was a long way down. “Can’t the shuttle just land and I’ll go down the stairs like a normal person?”

  “Negative. The situation is still fluid. I’m getting you out of there now, while we have them confused and on the run, whoever they are.”

  “Fine.” She stood up, tapping her marine’s shoulder and motioning her head towards the shuttle. He ran ahead and stood by the hole, as the shuttle’s engine’s whined from the effort of hovering against gravity. Before she stepped over the gap, she looked around the jumbled mess of a room.

  “Where’s Curiel? And the Patriarch?”

  One of the Secretary General’s marines answered. “Taken to safety, ma’am.”

  She rolled her eyes. Such a gentleman.

  From behind the table she had been hiding behind, Rex was watching her. She nodded a farewell to him, and an implied thank you for his help. He nodded back. “Tell him I’ll be in contact shortly. And that if he renegs, there will be swift hell to pay.”