Independence: Book 1 of The Legacy Ship Trilogy

by Nick Webb

  She jumped.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Irigoyen Sector, San Martin System, San Martin

  Bridge, ISS Independence

  Proctor could barely contain her anger during the bumpy ascent through the atmosphere up to the Independence, and was still seething when she descended the ramp in the fighter bay. Ballsy and his fighters had preceded her by just a few minutes, and he was waiting for her when she got out.

  “I want answers,” she said, storming past him, aiming for the doors and beyond, the bridge. She nearly steamrolled over a young yeoman who was bent low over a power receptacle on the deck. His floppy hair bounced as he pulled out of the way at the last second. Normally she’d stop to apologize, but she was too angry at getting almost killed to remember social niceties.

  “S—Sorry, ma’am,” he stammered, and gave a quick salute before returning to his work.

  She nodded a quick acknowledgment to the young man before continuing on towards the bridge. “Answers, Ballsy, I want them.” He fell into step next to her.

  “Me too. What the hell happened? Who were you talking to to ruffle so many feathers? And guns?” He fell into step next to her, tossing his helmet to one of the flight crew.

  “Curiel.”

  Ballsy did a double-take. “You’re kidding.”

  She glared at him. “Does this look like a face that kids?”

  His eyes darted up to her forehead. “Shelby, you’re injured. Again. We’re stopping by sickbay—”

  She felt her head, and the hand came away with a small spot of blood. “Like hell we are. It’s nothing. Bumped my head. Before I go anywhere near a doctor I want to know who the hell that was, and I want them neutralized. How the hell can I save civilization as we know it when we’ve got a bunch of thugs taking pot shots at me?”

  The elevator doors barely opened in time to keep her from bumping into them. As the lift carried them to the bridge she filled him in on everything Rex had told her about Danny and the Magdalena Issachar, and everything she’d learned from Curiel and the Patriarch Huntsman and his Grangerite devotees.

  Volz puffed air incredulously. “Unbelievable. I just can’t fathom anyone worshiping an old fart like that, even if it is Tim. And the ambush? What did Curiel have to say about it? Those people were way too well equipped to just be some street thugs.”

  “I think Secretary General Curiel is not entirely in control of his own insurgency. The wheels are coming off the GPC, and I think he’s not even in the driver’s seat.” The doors opened to the bridge, and she eyed Volz before stepping out. “But someone is, Ballsy.”

  “Hold on,” he said, reaching out to her arm before she entered the bridge. “Just so you know, we picked up … my son, Ethan, down on San Martin. Don’t worry, it wasn’t related to what happened to you,” he added, when he saw her reaction. “But he was on a stolen shuttle from Bolivar. Was apparently on Watchdog when it blew. Thought you ought to know.”

  “What the hell is he doing here? By shuttle that’s far.”

  “No idea. Haven’t had time to ask him. We’re still not … close.”

  She sighed, and touched her forehead to make sure the wound had stopped bleeding. “Ballsy, you’re going to have to let go of that. He’s your damn son.”

  “I know,” he grunted. “He’s a reckless jackass, but yes. I know.”

  Proctor shrugged, and started moving towards the open doors of the bridge. “Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, I guess.” She turned back to smile. “Thanks for the rescue, Ballsy. Now get to the CIC, and get me some answers.”

  The bridge was in disarray with half the teams on their feet, darting back and forth between coordinating the marines’ return from the surface, the IT team still cracking the code of the hackers, and who knew what else. “Admiral on the bridge!” said the marine standing at attention.

  “Admiral,” said Commander Yarbrough, relief spreading across his face. “Good to see you’re safe.”

  “What’s our status?” she strode to her seat—she didn’t know if it was still the adrenaline rushing through her veins or what, but she didn’t even have a hint of a limp. No—the pain was still there. Except rather than wince from it, she was letting it fuel her anger.

  Rayna Scott was at the ops station, coordinating auxiliary systems repair efforts. Grime and scorch marks covered her uniform, but she otherwise looked like she was finally back in her element—repairing starships after battle. Her face lit up into a wrinkled smile when she saw Proctor. “Good to see you in one piece, Shelby. Engines and power plant back up to green. Patched our holes and we’re ready to rumble.”

  Proctor sat down and nodded at the chief. “Thank you, Rayna.” She turned to Commander Yarbrough. “What news from the surface?”

  “I’ve been in contact with Admiral Tigre and the municipal authorities. They’ve collected bodies from the scene, and it looks like the perpetrators are a mix. Some IDF, some GPC, some street thugs that look like they were used for cannon fodder. We’re trying to track down how they hacked into our system.”

  “The fact that there were some IDF people on the ground on their side tells me we’ve probably got some IT people on their side too. All our systems could be at risk.” She sat down, and her knee exploded in pain. Good. Let it piss you off, Shelby.

  “Admiral,” began Qwerty, “transmission from CENTCOM San Martin. It’s Admiral Tigre.”

  “Put him through.”

  Tigre’s worried face filled the screen. “Dear god, Shelby, I’m so glad you’re all right.”

  “So am I, Miguel. What can you tell me?”

  He grunted. “Not much. We’re still in the middle of sifting through the rubble and apprehending folks, but I think it’s pretty clear this was a fringe element of the GPC. But the coordination and level of tech here was staggering. They must have some big-name backers.”

  “I want those names, Miguel. This is all connected—Danny, the Magdalena Issachar and Sangre de Cristo, the missing nuke—”

  He did a double take. “Come again?”

  She sighed. “You need to have a little talk with Secretary General Curiel. He’s got eight more nukes of the same variety that hit Sangre, and one more that’s missing, presumably taken by the same people taking potshots at me.”

  “Good god….”

  “God has nothing to do with it, in spite of what the Grangerites think. And if he does, he’s certainly not good. Let me know when you have more, Miguel, I’ve got a lot going on here.”

  He nodded. “Very well. I’ll get in touch with Curiel. Tigre out.”

  She let out a deep breath. It was as if she hadn’t had a chance to breathe since stepping into that used ship showroom just a few hours earlier. Who in the world would want to nuke millions of colonists? Who the hell would want it to look like Danny who’d done it?

  Did Danny do it on purpose, thinking he’d ingratiate himself with someone? Or thinking that if he attacked a GPC-loyal world like Sangre that he’d influence popular opinion and sympathy for the GPC, and help it win independence and legitimacy? Impossible. She banished the thought.

  “Admiral.” Qwerty looked up, his face pale. “Receiving a wide-beam meta-space signal from the IDF station orbiting El Amin. It’s the farthest planet out in the San Martin system, about two light-hours away. The mystery ship is here.”

  Dammit.

  She glanced over at Ballsy, who was huddled with Commander Mumford. “Are we ready?”

  Ballsy shrugged. “We’ve been working on the new tactics. I guess we’ll find out. Welterweight here sure thinks we’re ready though.”

  Mumford looked like he wanted to contest the nickname, but only cleared his throat. “I’ve been working on the … uh, emotional projection issue, ma’am. I think I’ve figured it out. Well, enough to attenuate the signal. I’ve set up a regular EM grid across the hull, basically creating a thin meta-material shield. Like a Faraday cage, except this picks out the meta-space accompanied EM signal coming off the alien
ship, and automatically adjusts the effective molecular orbital spacing of the meta-material shield to compensate.”

  “Good man. How sure are you that it works?”

  Mumford cocked his head, as if calculating risk factors in his head. “The first few minutes might be rocky, but it’ll automatically learn and adjust. And I’ve uploaded the program into all the fighters, too. Their EM field generators should be able to handle it.”

  So this was it. She paused, before making the decision. “Are we ready?” she repeated to the two men.

  “As ready as we’ll ever be, Shelby.” Ballsy looked grim, but determined. That was enough for her.

  “Ensign Riisa. Set a t-jump course to El Amin. It’s time we go on offense.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Irigoyen Sector, San Martin System, El Amin

  Bridge, ISS Independence

  The t-jump made her less queasy this time, and Proctor wondered if it was just because she was acclimating to the process, or if doing such a short jump meant less spatial and temporal distortion. Either way, when they arrived, the viewscreen shifted from a video feed of the tranquil blue San Martin to the icy gray El Amin. The camera zoomed in, and the Golgothic ship bloomed across the screen.

  She felt a wave of irrational fear and consternation, which just as quickly dissipated. Commander Mumford called out from the rear of the bridge. “The meta-material shield is working, Admiral. The other ship’s EM field isn’t penetrating the hull.”

  “For now.” She watched the screen, studying the alien, abrupt curves of the other ship. “How are we doing on scanning that thing? Are the sensors able to penetrate it yet?”

  “Working on it, Admiral,” said Mumford. “I have a few ideas on that front. Just get me some time….”

  “I’ll stall for as long as we can afford it.”

  Yarbrough had sidled up behind her. “Is stalling wise?”

  “I want to know what we’re shooting at before we shoot at it.”

  He frowned. “For reasons of conscience?” The implication was clear. She was the reluctant annihilator of the remnants of the Swarm, and the Mother Killer of the Skiohra.

  “For tactical reasons, Commander. Before we start firing, I want to make sure our shots count, because we might only have a few shots to begin with.” She turned to him. “Unless you prefer we start firing blindly and willy nilly? Just take our chances and hope for the best?”

  He backed off. “Of course, Admiral. I’ll prep the emergency crews for damage response.”

  “Good.”

  They spent a tense half hour watching the ship, which slowly orbited the tiny gray planet. Each time they passed the IDF station it reflected the weak light of San Martin’s sun back at them, which at this distance only looked like a very bright star.

  “So it’s ignoring the orbital station this time, and us.” She tapped her armrests impatiently. “Tell me about El Amin. What’s down there?”

  Lieutenant Whitehorse worked her console and brought up the data. “Basically just a giant ball of water ice and rock. Molten iron-nickel core. About the size of Pluto, if that helps. There is a small research station down on the surface.”

  “IDF?”

  “No, ma’am. A research outpost run by one of the private universities on San Martin.”

  “Population?”

  “A few hundred.”

  She went through the grim moral calculus involved with balancing the needs of a few hundred civilians on the ground, the few dozen IDF officers on the station, and the crew of the Independence, along with the billions who were depending on her, in this moment. It was ghoulish to think about, but those unfortunate people down on the planet were not the highest priority.

  Qwerty looked up from the comm station. “They’re asking for assistance, Admiral. And they’re suffering the full effect of the Golgothic broadcast, so they’re … a little agitated.”

  “Tell them we’re occupied, but that they should evacuate immediately.”

  Lieutenant Whitehorse shouted. “Alien ship is firing!”

  On the screen they all watched as the same purple-white beam lanced out from the strange ship, not towards the Independence, but down at the icy planet below.

  “Are they hitting the research station?”

  Whitehorse shook her head. “No, ma’am. It’s just drilling into the surface like it did at Ido.”

  Yarbrough stiffened. “Are we going to respond? It’s still a direct attack on a UE world, with UE civilians on it. Those people are in immediate danger.”

  “I agree, they’re in immediate danger,” said Proctor, “but I want to be sure of what we’re doing before we rush in with all guns firing—” she held up a hand as he started to interrupt her. “There are bigger stakes here than a research station, Commander. If we get this wrong, billions die, instead of hundreds.”

  His expression was cold. “Small comfort for the families of those students and researchers down there.”

  She turned back to the screen. “I didn’t say we were doing nothing. Ballsy, you there?” She tapped on the comm.

  Moments later, from the comm speaker, “Shelby?”

  “I want an evacuation of El Amin. Now. Every available shuttle. Even the fighters—we can fit up to three people in those if they get cozy. And hurry.”

  “Aye, Admiral,” he said, and started barking orders at his staff in the background.

  “And Tyler,” she added. Using his given name caught his attention, like she wanted.

  “Shelby?”

  “I mean all shuttles. And all pilots. Got it?”

  A long pause.

  “Understood.”

  She turned back to Lieutenant Whitehorse. “Progress of the beam?”

  “It’s drilled down about ten percent into El Amin’s crust. Will hit the mantle soon.”

  Commander Mumford called from the science station. “Ma’am, El Amin is fundamentally different than Ido. Ido was essentially a giant rock. Never even attained hydrostatic equilibrium or planetary differentiation—you know, its core was essentially the same as its outer regions, with no mantle or—”

  Proctor sighed. “Commander, I am a scientist. No need for the science lesson. Please get to the point.”

  “Yes, ma’am. So El Amin is different. There’s a crust, a mantle, a core—you know, like a regular old planet. And with that beam drilling into it….”

  She filled in the blanks. “Ok. So we’re looking at a magma eruption.” She glanced at the sensor readout on her command console. The science station’s data stream scrolled down, and she only caught snippets of the readings. “What’s the pressure? How much magma, how far will it blast out, and, more importantly, what’s the risk to the research station?”

  Mumford shook his head. “This is a PhD dissertation here, ma’am. We could study the geo-dynamics problem for years. But, best guess, we’re looking at a … large … eruption. Soon.” He looked up, his face somber. “The drilling site is only a hundred kilometers from the research station. Even a minor eruption, given the lack of atmosphere and low gravity, is going to wreak havoc on the station—possibly completely destroy it.”

  She nodded. “Proctor to Captain Volz.”

  “Yeah, Admiral?”

  “Ballsy, you know how I said hurry?”

  “Yeah, Admiral?”

  She watched the seismic readings on her science data feed begin to stir, immediately reaching up to the top of the scale. “What I meant was, hurry … the hell … up.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Irigoyen Sector, San Martin System, El Amin

  Brig, ISS Independence

  The door to his cell slid open, and there he was. Oh god, just turn me over to CENTCOM, already.

  Zivic forced a smile. “So soon? I wasn’t expecting you for another … oh, ten years. Like last time.”

  Volz glared at him icily. “Shut up and listen. We’re engaging the alien ship again.” He hesitated. “The Admiral ordered that every available pilot
assist in the effort.”

  Zivic did a double take. “You want me to fly a fighter out there against that thing?”

  “Don’t be silly. I wouldn’t let you near a fighter if my life depended on it.” Volz’s scowl deepened. “There’s a research station down there on El Amin. Just a few hundred people. You’re going to take the shuttle you came in on, get in, grab people, and get out. Simple. Can you handle that?”

  Zivic shrugged. He desperately wanted to reach down into his boot for his metal flask, but remembered it was long since empty. “Sounds easy enough.”

  His father cocked his head at him, his eyes still hard as ice. “Without getting anyone killed. Nothing fancy. Just in, and out.”

  Zivic glared back. How dare he? He bit off a curse, and forced a painfully thin smile. “Of course.”

  It looked like Volz was expecting more verbal fireworks than that and almost looked disappointed, but after a brief awkward moment he held out an arm indicating the door.

  They walked quickly, in silence, the two decks it took to get to the fighter bay. The shuttle he’d arrived in was sitting off to the side, its ramp descended, just waiting for a pilot. At the top, he stopped and turned to look at his father.

  “Remember. In, and out. Nothing fancy. Nothing heroic. You’re there to save as many students as you can.”

  “Got it,” he turned back towards the cockpit.

  “And Ethan,” Volz added, making Zivic pause at the hatch, “that EM field that brings out the crazies in people is active. We’ve figured out how to shield the Independence from it, and we’ve modified the shuttle. But the people down there are going to be … agitated. And you will be too. Be careful.”

  Be careful? He tried to smile again. “Thanks for the concern. I’ll be fine.”

  The hatch closed, and he flipped the engines on before he could even sit down. Ten seconds later he was soaring out of the fighter bay, still half dazed at the sudden turn of events. He’d spent the past hour in his cell wondering if his father had suddenly turned revolutionary, leading the GPC cause at the helm of a new warship. But his mentioning of the Admiral—there was only one Admiral to his father—told Zivic that maybe he’d gotten lucky after all. There was no way in hell that Shelby Proctor was at the head of a multi-organizational galactic conspiracy.