The Battle for the Solar System (Complete Trilogy)

by Sweeney, Stephen

  “What happens if the Devils refuse to go through with it?” Parks asked.

  “That’s why we need to be absolutely sure that they won’t, Elliott,” Turner said in a gruff voice. “We can’t afford to have them pull another Patrick Dean on us. That little incident set us back well over a month.” He paused, staring into space, then said, “Never in my life did I actually think I would authorise an assassination action against our own men.”

  Parks didn’t envy him there. He remembered the day that Dean and the rest of the Yellow Dogs had uncovered the truth behind the Imperial civil war, the ATAF project and Operation Sudarberg. It seemed that in the space of just one hour, everything had gone very wrong for the CSN. After discovering that the Yellow Dogs had gone AWOL, threatening to blow apart the secrets they had worked so hard to keep, Turner had ordered for the five men to be tracked down and eliminated without hesitation. The order had been made the top priority for the navy, army, secret service and the government, pushing absolutely everything else aside.

  Four members of the Dogs had been dealt with quickly. The first two, Clinton Oliver and Cody Ferandez, had been gunned down in a starport, the rational spun out behind the very public execution being that they were terrorists, plotting to bomb a passenger liner. The next, Hugh Sanderson, was shot behind the wheel of a vehicle he had stolen, as he raced down a motorway. He had been said to have been the terrorists’ accomplice. Nelson Winward, the fourth, was taken down in the Dart that he had procured for the purpose of escape. Without weaponry and against a wing of TAFs, he’d stood no chance. That one had been filed under policing and security.

  Patrick Dean, however, had proven quite slippery.

  As chance would have it, a standby pilot, also named Dean, was scheduled for a system patrol that same day. Dean had knocked the man out, hidden his victim in a locker, and then used a jumpgate to take the patrol TAF to Earth. In his desperation to escape, he had risked a very dangerous atmospheric re-entry, something the craft wasn’t designed to safely withstand. Luck, however, had been on his side and he had made it through. Somewhere over Ireland he had ejected, apparently hoping to lose the service agents that were pursuing him in the farmland around there. They had dropped after him, and quickly caught up with the man, before shooting him several times. Despite his wounds, Dean’s resolve was so strong that, not only had he survived the incident, but had then returned fire, taking out the service agents with a plasma pistol.

  All had seemed lost.

  It had therefore come as a relief to both Parks and Turner when the emergency services had relayed confirmation of a man in the area, suffering from gunshot wounds. Dean was barely conscious at that point and Turner was satisfied that no further action was required. All they needed to do was wait for Dean to die and take his body away. The incident had been averted, their secrets were safe.

  Still, at the end of it all, they had lost seven good men. Parks wasn’t sure how he was meant to feel about all of that. He could see both sides of the argument.

  “You know, I’m amazed that that man managed to make it so far after being shot in the chest,” Turner said, sniffing gently at his whiskey.

  “The autopsy said that he wasn’t struck in any vital organs,” Parks said, “and that it was internal bleeding that ultimately contributed to his death. Continuing trying to run certainly didn’t help.”

  “Hmm,” was all Turner said.

  Parks didn’t much like talking so technically about a man they had been forced to arrange to kill. He’d rather move on to a different subject.

  “Remind me,” Turner said, “what was the official line on that incident?”

  “That all members of the Yellow Dogs were killed during covert operations. There were no bodies to recover because they were vaporised in starfighter explosions,” Parks recited.

  “That’s not exactly a story we can spin out for another five pilots, if they also decide to run,” Turner said. “I don’t like the idea of keeping secrets from our own men, but if it means the difference between keeping the facts away from the general public and chaos on quite literally a galactic scale, then so be it.” He rocked the whiskey glass in his hand. “There is no other way to do this, Elliott.”

  Parks knew he was right. In order for the ATAF project to successfully run its course from here on out, there could be very little room for deviation or stalling, meaning that both men would have to be absolutely certain of their every decision. But neither of them wanted to talk about it now, Parks himself figuring there would be plenty of time in the coming months. He took the opportunity to talk about something else. “I received word that the Knights arrived at Spirit early this afternoon, local time,” he said. “The Silver Panthers are still en route back to the Rex system.”

  “Good. Papers and records all in order?”

  “Yes, sir. The Panthers are returning to their regular duties, following a ‘clerical error’. The Knights will begin routine patrols and counter-piracy measures within the next few days.” He decided not to bother Turner with the details of the little incident with Chaz Koonan at the time he had informed the group of their new duty. He was sure that it wouldn’t have surprised the admiral in the slightest. It could be put into a report for his perusal at a later date.

  “The Knights are going to be stationed on the orbital?”

  “Oh … no, sir; there isn’t room.”

  “That’s a pity, given their commitment to the program. We could’ve at least given them that. So, they’ll be posted to Mandelah?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Under Aiden and Anthony?”

  “Just Aiden, for now. But Anthony will be around as needed.”

  Turner nodded. “They will be in good hands with Aiden. He’s a good man, if a bit soft. I’m still not sure if he’s more cut out to run that base than captaincy of Leviathan, but we’ll see. He seems to prefer the carrot to the stick nine times out of ten, something which may explain why he’s passed over for promotion so often.” Turner drained his glass and began to smile. “I actually read some of his poetry the other day.”

  “Aiden writes poetry?” Parks said.

  Turner nodded, looking quite amused.

  Who’d have known? Parks found himself a little curious at the idea. “What was it like?”

  The admiral was silent for a moment, as if considering his answer. “Actually, not bad,” he admitted, “if a little too fluffy for my tastes. Put it this way – I’d not want to be in the room when he was giving a reading.” He poured himself another small measure of whiskey. “What about the Red Devils?”

  Parks declined the offer of a top up, but noticed how Turner eyed him closely, as if suggesting the drink were needed. “The Red Devils will begin hands-on ATAF training operations in the pre-arranged location, within the next week,” Parks said. “After manoeuvres training, they’ll be pitted in combat against some holographic units, before participating in simulated combat training against real pilots, briefed and volunteered from the United Naval Forces.”

  “Just so long as they don’t kill anyone,” Turner remarked. “I don’t expect those other pilots quite know what they’re in for, facing off against those fighters. They’re in for one hell of a shock.”

  Turner drank again from his glass and Parks looked down into what remained of his own whiskey. He had decided that he really wasn’t very fond of it and that in future he would only drink it out of good grace.

  Like now. He gulped down a bit more.

  Turner cleared his throat and set his glass down on the table. “Now, Elliott, I have to confess that I didn’t just ask you here to share a celebratory glass of whiskey. You may be aware that I have been in the service of the CSN for most of my life, something the suits in Office have come to realise, too. So, it is with considerable regret that I have to inform you that in just over six weeks’ time, I will be retiring from service.”

  Parks almost dropped his glass in shock. “What?” He was retiring? Now? Was this some sort of
joke? “But … sir, that’s impossible … it’s … surely it’s a mistake?” he spluttered, as he fought to control the mild terror that was rising within him.

  “I know you believed that I was going to be around until the very end,” Turner said, “but that hasn’t been the case for quite a while now. I thought it was best I continued to give you that impression, until much closer to the time.” He sighed. “Sorry for the deception.”

  Parks was stunned. Everything now seemed urgent, and the situation he found himself in threatened to overwhelm him. Without any real reason, he pulled back his sleeve to look at his watch. He’d lost all sense of time and was now wishing that six weeks actually meant six months. Over the past few years, he and Turner had worked closely together to ensure that the ATAF project would run smoothly. In the grand scheme of things, they hadn’t even completed the first phase of the project, the most important aspects still yet to come. He felt as though he had been left holding the baby. He glanced out of the window before him, finding the darkening sky, with its layer upon layer of thick grey clouds, to be appropriate to his mood.

  “I’m sorry, Elliott,” Turner said again, sounding regretful, “and I wish there was more that I could do, but unfortunately my retirement has been forced upon me. I have already deferred it by more than two years, so I am unable to play that card.” He rose from his chair and paced slowly back and forth in front of the window, looking out at the beautiful cityscape. “The suits want me out. They’re afraid that a man of my age will start to make mistakes that could jeopardise the project. I saw the memo, Elliott. Those pen-pushers had the audacity to label me a liability. They actually used that word! Ha! I may be old, but I’m not senile just yet. Whiskey?”

  Parks became aware that Turner had moved from the window and was hovering over him. He had disappeared into his own thoughts, as he had attempted to digest the news that had hit him like a sledgehammer. He nodded, seeing the whiskey as a buffer and immediate comforter. Turner topped up his glass.

  “What’s going to happen?” Parks asked after taking a good drink.

  “You’re going to finish what we started, Commodore. You’re not going to give up or wind things down a notch, just because I’m no longer able to participate in the project. What would you do if, for example, I was killed while in transit?”

  The point was well made. At least the responsibility was being passed on to him with fair warning. He would still be able to draw on Turner’s expertise and knowledge for several more weeks.

  “We have until the end of June, Elliott,” Turner added. “There is plenty of time to ensure the transition. And I’m pretty certain you know most of it already, anyway. Of course, the downside is that you will now end up having to work much closer with insufferable, pretentious arseholes like Adrian Parsons. How a man such as that became the governor of a planet as powerful as Torelli and gained such influence over the IWC, I’ll never know.”

  Parks studied Turner as he spoke. Maybe it was the whiskey, but now, for the first time, he had become aware of just how old and tired the admiral really looked. His eyes betrayed a sense of weariness, unusual in such a strong-minded man. But with the revelation of his impending retirement, his other features, the greyed and heavily receding hair, his thin face and wrinkles, no longer just said ‘experienced’.

  “Everything is changing, Elliott,” Turner said, a touch sadly. “Have you noticed how we’re becoming more and more like a federation every day? Current events are forcing us all to work much closer together than ever before, but power is shifting all over the place. We’re more tightly coupled now than at any time in the last century.” He was sitting once more in his chair, leaning back and staring up at the ceiling again. “And whilst they might deny it, with the gradual unifications of their governments and military forces, the independents are making steps towards becoming a confederate state themselves. I expect they’ll declare themselves a Union for as long as they can, rather than admit to all the power-sharing, decision-making and independence they’ll eventually be forced to give up. Whether or not any of these things are good, only time will tell. Whatever happens, the galaxy will be a very different place in the next five or six years.”

  Parks thought back over the history of the Confederation. Indeed, this was how it had been for them. It had started as a union between Sol, Gabriel and Alpha Centauri, the three systems declaring themselves The Helios Union, the name a nod towards the human race’s beginnings in Sol. In time, more and more star systems had requested to join, seeking to become members of what could be seen as a major galactic alliance. Briefly, The Union had become The League, as various declarations were drawn up, laws and currencies more or less standardised, governmental offices appointed, legal trade routes established, military contributions and controls put in place, and immigration and migration between member systems eased. Then, as the majority of power had shifted to Sol, it had become what it was today – the Helios Confederation. The growth had been quite an organic one, though it hadn’t been without its problems. Bloodshed had been both almost inevitable and unavoidable. Some didn’t like being forced to adhere to particular laws, quotas and statures for the sake of being a member. Opposition parties within individual nations had also risen, causing problems and exacerbate tensions.

  That’s all we need, Parks thought, even more unrest amongst the Independent nations.

  The two men sat in silence for a time.

  “Do you have any plans? For your retirement, I mean?” Parks asked. He wasn’t particularly good at small talk, but felt that it could only serve to lighten the mood.

  “Actually, yes!” Turner announced with a smile, his mood quite light hearted. “I’ll be returning to Earth to see my new granddaughter. You may know that my daughter had pretty much given up hope of having children? Well, as it happens she gave birth to a healthy young girl a few days ago, and I plan on being there with my family.” He took another drink. He was close to finishing his second glass. “To tell the truth, I’ll be grateful to spend as much time with them as possible. Should none of this work out in the end, then I will prefer to have spent the time left with my family, rather than in some stellar graveyard.” He paused, then said, “I hope you do not think that cowardly of me?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Family is important, Elliott.”

  So you keep reminding me, Parks thought.

  “Strength to carry on, Commodore,” Turner said, as if reading his mind, “we’re only human, after all.” He set his glass down on the desk, having drained it. “Admiral Jenkins will be taking over my duties, following my departure, and she is already aware of my situation and the status of the project. I suggest that before the end of the month, the three of us take some time to get together and become acquainted with one another’s core responsibilities and assignments. That should help to ensure that there are no shocks in store come the beginning of July. Until then, I will continue to retain full command over the CSN.”

  Parks nodded in acknowledgement, taking another sip of whiskey.

  “Now, I expect you have a lot to think about and do, so I won’t take up any more of your time,” Turner said.

  Parks rose and saluted, taking the hint. “Thank you for the drink, sir.”

  “Funny how a bit of bad news can take away the taste of an unfavourable whiskey,” Turner chuckled.

  Parks was under the impression that he had hidden his revulsion of the spirit well. He made a mental note never to play poker against the admiral.

  Turner, too, stood and saluted. “Safe journey. I have the utmost faith in you to see this through, Elliott. Remember that.”

  *

  Returning to his transport, Parks paused to take in the view once more. The high landing jetty provided a view of almost equal beauty to that of Turner’s office. He stood there at the cliff edge for a while, feeling the cool breeze of the evening wind upon him as he looked out at the Brunsfield cityscape, watching the lights of the city and twin moons of Xalan refle
cting off the gentle waves of the calm ocean.

  He had seen more stunning sights during his lifetime. Tonight, however, at that particular moment, this was at the same time the most beautiful and most terrifying sight he had ever seen – for it was a testament to the power of the human spirit, from their humble beginnings on Earth, to a spacefaring race, spanning dozens of star systems across the galaxy.

  And with that, a stark reminder of the penalty for failure. One day, the lights of Brunsfield might be extinguished, the residents lying amongst the rubble of ruined buildings, smoke billowing from their sides. The city might look dead and abandoned, but there would be life there – dozens of soldiers, clad entirely in black, walking through the devastation, their banners and standards flying above them, haunting ruby-red eyes hunting out any remaining survivors, taking no prisoners and sparing no lives. One day the Pandoran army might arrive here, and one need look no further than what now remained of the Mitikas Empire to know how it would end.

  It’s all in your hands now, Elliott, he thought to himself. Let’s hope you’re ready.

  VIII

  — Where the Action Is —

  An excerpt from A GIFT FROM THE GODS by Kelly Taylor

  Saturday, 17th May 2617

  Around the middle of May 2617, we were transferred to the Temper system, having conceded participation in the ATAF program to the Red Devils. We arrived at Mandelah naval base, on Spirit, around five weeks before the commencement of Operation Menelaus, an operation which would forever be remembered as one of the biggest naval disasters of the Pandoran War.

  My posting to Spirit was a little easier than most others. A day there would last about twenty-five hours and twelve minutes. This fitted in well with my recent transfers, Xalan being around twenty-two hours and thirty minutes, and Al-Elfia, in the Gabriel system, being just shy of a perfect Earth period, at twenty-three hours and fifty-six minutes. It meant that we were able to more easily maintain calendars that were closer to the galactic Sol Standard.