The Battle for the Solar System (Complete Trilogy)

by Sweeney, Stephen

  *

  “This is an utter disaster,” Turner grated, holding his head in his hands as he read the reports detailing the fates of the Cardinal and Merekat. Though they had yet to be fully sorted and collated, it hadn’t proven difficult to piece together a picture of exactly what had happened earlier that evening.

  Parks had returned to Xalan upon hearing the news. He now stood before Turner, waiting as the admiral went over each of the reports, knowing that they didn’t make for pleasant reading.

  “What the hell was Cardinal doing there without some sort of escort?” Turner growled.

  “According to Spirit Orbital, they had reported a suspected case of Shizaru’s Fever aboard and had performed an emergency jump into Temper.”

  Turner stared at him in disbelief. “Shizaru’s Fever? The disease that induces deaf-blindness?”

  “Yes, sir,” Parks said, though he shared Turner’s clear scepticism.

  “There’s not been a confirmed or even reported case of that for over one hundred years!” Turner growled. “Bloody idiots! They should’ve followed proper procedure, instead of trying to handle it themselves. Just our damned luck that raiders would choose to hit a research vessel. This is precisely why we need to step up patrols in all sectors. This kind of thing could’ve been easily avoided if we’d simply had more manpower.”

  Parks nodded, even though he knew it wasn’t the real reason behind Turner’s anger. What was far more important was what had been taken from the Cardinal. The moment word had reached him that the ship had been attacked and destroyed, Parks prayed that that was all that had happened. But as the reports from the various witnesses had come in, he had heard how a craft had fled the scene moments before the ship’s destruction; though not before a dump had been taken of the Cardinal’s computer systems, copied onto a data card and then, presumably, taken onboard the fleeing vessel. As a mobile research facility, Cardinal had held much of the Confederation’s project work, acting as an extreme kind of disaster recovery service. It therefore held a lot of important information, the most significant being that pertaining to the ATAF project. It was all there – every schema, blueprint, theory, problem, solution, purpose …

  The Cardinal’s black box had proven to be a treasure trove of information, detailing all the events leading up to the ship’s destruction. As well as letting the CSN know the nature of the data that had been downloaded onto the data card, it had also revealed the destination of the jump point the thief had used to escape.

  And Parks had almost despaired when he had discovered that it led towards Mitikas. Of all the places the thief could’ve chosen to go. Why there? Why? Didn’t he know that the empire was at war and that Imperial space had become incredibly dangerous? But maybe that was the point – maybe he had chosen to steal military secrets and sell them to the highest bidder. Idiot! If there was one group of people who didn’t need any more military power, it was the occupants of Imperial space.

  “Why wasn’t that gate deactivated?” Turner asked.

  “It was, sir,” Parks said.

  “Clearly not from what I’m reading!”

  “Preliminary findings are suggesting that the Cardinal herself was actually responsible for activating the gate.”

  Turner scowled. “And how the hell was it authorised to do such a thing?”

  “Perhaps because of the nature of the ship,” Parks said. “It’s a disaster recovery vessel, so I’m tempted to suggest that it possessed override capabilities in order to help perform its job.”

  Turner swore and then grumbled under his breath. “Raise a request to strip jumpgate auth from all vessels, regardless of status.”

  “From all vessels, sir? Shouldn’t we at least—”

  “Just do it, Commodore!” the admiral cut him off. He sighed, shook his head. “That fool of a raider thinks he’s going to earn himself a tidy little sum by selling on military secrets.”

  “The data is heavily encrypted,” Parks offered.

  “That’s beside the point,” Turner snapped back at him. “With the resources available to them, the Enemy could crack it within a matter of months just by applying brute force techniques!”

  Turner rose from his chair, taking one of the reports with him. Parks glanced down at a report on the desk, a summarised timeline of events detailed by Spirit Orbital.

  1710 hours – CSN Cardinal has made an emergency jump into the Temper system and reported a suspected case of Shizaru’s Fever.

  1749 hours – Received distress call from CSN Cardinal. Vessel under attack by unknown assailants. Suspect raiding party.

  1751 hours – Contacted nearest patrol group, White Knights, and requested they assist Cardinal.

  1753 hours – Dispatched Merekat and Buffalo for search and rescue operation.

  1811 hours – CSN Cardinal reports that most attacking vessels have been destroyed, but raiding party has boarded.

  “First Dragon and now this,” Turner said, tossing the report he had been reading back onto the desk, to join the rest. He stood staring out the window, contemplating.

  “They’d still need to build the ATAFs,” said Parks, once again attempting to reassure the admiral. “That would take them several months, even after they’d deciphered the data. And as far as we have been able to determine, the Enemy don’t retain any knowledge of starfighter construction.”

  “No, they could do it much quicker than that,” Turner said, as he picked up another report and began going over it. “Unlike us, the Enemy don’t require sign-offs, approvals, security, money … They don’t have to justify an enormous military budget. They don’t have to gloss over expenditure or attempt to keep the project under wraps. They don’t have to sit in a boardroom full of suits trying to explain, in basic terms, the long-term implications of non-action. It doesn’t matter that they might not understand starfighter engineering. With the information about the ATAFs in their hands, they’ll certainly make the effort to learn. And damn quickly at that, too.”

  “If—” Parks started.

  “You’ve seen firsthand what that fighter is capable of,” Turner went on, ignoring him. “Imagine facing several dozen of those in combat. Combine that with the Enemy’s abilities and we might as well arm everyone with low grade particle cannons, for all the good it would do. Then there’s all the other information they will have become privy to. We would have to step up the final phase of the project without any guarantees.”

  Turner picked up another report, reading it to himself for a time, before glancing up at Parks and quoting a passage out loud. “Upon resuming our patrol, we were contacted by Spirit Orbital, who requested that we assist CSN Cardinal which had come under attack. We arrived to find signs of recent combat and the Cardinal damaged. I ordered that the area be swept and secured, while we awaited the arrival of the search and rescue teams.” He flicked through the pages a few times. “I see the White Knights were at the scene.”

  “Yes, sir,” Parks said. “They were patrolling the area when they received the request to aid Cardinal.”

  “And they were unable to take down a single escaping ship?”

  “Those details are sketchy, sir. The wing leader believed she was acting within a support capacity and didn’t act because she was not ordered to.”

  “de Winter was leading the wing?”

  “Yes, sir. From what I understand, Lieutenant Dodds moved in to intercept the craft, but de Winter ordered him to hold position until she could make a better assessment of the situation.”

  “Stupid decision,” Turner scowled. “She should’ve had that ship blown to pieces the moment it was clear of Cardinal.” He continued flipping through pages. “Apparently they also encountered some unknown hostilities on their patrol … What the hell’s this?”

  “Sir?”

  Turner stabbed at the paper, his face turning red. “This part about a transmission they received!”

  Parks was aware of the incident of which he spoke. He moved to speak, but the admiral
held up a hand and hushed him into silence. Turner began to pore over the details of the transmission, displeasure etching ever deeper into his face. Parks knew without having to be told what the admiral was thinking – this shouldn’t be here, it all had to go. The pilot’s words would lead to questions, questions which would then lead to truths, truths that would lead to panic on, quite literally, a galactic scale.

  And then the Enemy, the seemingly already unstoppable Pandoran army, would win.

  “Remove it,” Turner said, dropping the report back onto his desk. “Chop it, edit it, whatever, just get rid of it! In fact, change it so that as far as anyone is concerned, those men were asylum seekers fleeing the civil war. They stole three ships and ran the checkpoints in the Alba system, before jumping to Temper. Their vessels were destroyed after they failed to identify themselves to a naval patrol unit, which they had proceeded to attack.”

  “Yes, Admiral. I’ll have that updated for the final report,” Parks said.

  “Ensure it is, as well as the traffic and activity records at Alba. Just go through the usual channels for that one.”

  Parks nodded.

  “And have someone take the Knights aside and ensure they don’t repeat what they heard. I don’t care who you get to do it – yourself, Meyers or Hawke, whoever. Just make sure the message is clear. We need all our bases covered on this one.”

  Parks nodded again. It was almost as if the admiral was blaming him for the presence of the offending sentences. “I’ll have it done as soon as we’ve wrapped this up, Admiral.”

  “Good. I have to leave soon to meet with those clowns in Office, and I don’t wish to spend any more time on damage control.” He sighed, straightened, and then said, “Now, before all of this crap started, I believe you said that you had some news for me?”

  For a moment, Parks had to search his memory for what he wanted to tell Turner. Recent events seemed to have managed to push it to one side, despite the significance of the news. When he remembered, he couldn’t help but smile. “Yes, sir, indeed I do.”

  Turner scowled at him. “I hope it’s good news, Commodore,” he said, clearly not in the mood for anything less.

  “Oh, it’s very good news, Admiral,” Parks grinned. “Intelligence have finally managed to locate Dragon.”

  X

  — Rumours, Poker and Whiskey —

  An excerpt from A GIFT FROM THE GODS by Kelly Taylor

  Thursday, 12th June 2617

  On the eve of Operation Menelaus, the Officer’s Club at Mandelah Naval Base was filled to capacity. On most days, the Club wasn’t nearly as packed as it had been that night, but the actions of the White Knights two days prior (as well as the report editing undertaken by CSN command) had set in motion a series of rumours and Chinese whispers, the ultimate result of which had seen a great number of service personnel descending on the building and do their utmost to squeeze themselves into its four walls.

  Word of mouth had spread that a naval pilot called Kelly had engaged and taken down two enemy starfighters making their way through Confederation space. Should you have asked anyone that night, the exact identity of the “enemy” was largely unknown, but neither was it important. By further word of mouth it had become four enemy vessels that were en route to torpedo Spirit Orbital. “Kelly” had been patrolling on his own when he had encountered the enemy, and had therefore been unable to fall back on any wingmates for assistance. At this point, Kelly had been identified as a man, or, as I recall, ‘one hell of a guy’. In the end, he had not only dealt with the threat all by himself, but had also become solely responsible for the defence and evacuation of a heavily packed naval transport, which had been the enemy’s secondary target.

  Amusingly, the official records still showed the true nature of events – that I had taken down two of the three Darts, with Estelle downing the third. Anyone could’ve discovered the truth simply by taking the time to check them, and I, of course, could’ve always said something.

  I didn’t, though. Anything for a party.

  I consumed a little more alcohol than I should’ve that night, though thankfully I was spared a punishing hangover the following morning. The same could not be said of either Dodds or Enrique, however, who were so drunk by kicking-out time that they had difficulty walking straight. Not good when you were about to attend one of the most important briefings of your career, and worse still when you were sat directly in front of Elliott Parks, who wouldn’t miss a thing. An irresponsible thing to do, but one of the moments in my life that I think about almost every day when I look at my husband, remembering how their stupidity ended up saving all of our lives.

  The atmosphere in the Club was booming that night, the drink flowing freely, with much singing and dancing. The pool tables were receiving a great deal more attention than they normally would, with various wagers being played out non-stop. One player I saw was enjoying a lot of success with the cue, many challengers attempting to break his winning streak and soon parting with their cash.

  For many there that night, it was the last such party they would attend; in particular, those serving aboard CSN Ifrit. Of those who didn’t lose their lives over the next twenty-four hours, most would be returning home with injuries that would lead to an immediate end to their service.

  Lucky them.

  I had one of my first fights with Estelle that night. Though she had come along with the stated intention of enjoying the party, she had slipped into an unapproachable mood, making her difficult to be around. Perhaps more so, depending on whom you spoke to. The time we’d spent stationed at Spirit was gradually beginning to get to her, and she had a number of things that she wanted to get off her chest. The first was the lecture she’d received over the report of the three Darts she had submitted, specifically, her detailing the transmission that had been broadcast. A dressing-down had followed when Estelle had attempted to argue her side. The second issue was the incident with Cardinal and Merekat. Estelle maintained that both the destruction of the ships and the subsequent escape of the raider to the Phylent system were her fault, suggesting that had she performed a more efficient sweep of the Cardinal, disaster could’ve been averted.

  It wasn’t really her fault; she was still suffering from what she considered to have been her first major mistake that day, of quite literally shooting first and asking questions second. Still, she had attempted to justify her actions to Aiden Meyers, though he had disappeared from the base shortly after we had returned from our patrol. It is doubtful that it would have made any difference in the long-term, what with Meyers having his hands full with the preparation to recover Dragon.

  Unfortunately, whilst she had been talking, I hadn’t been paying attention. I was off in my own little world, watching Enrique, Dodds and Chaz. For some reason, I hadn’t been able to take my eyes off Enrique that night. Maybe it was the atmosphere of the Club or the cocktails I had been drinking, I wasn’t too sure. Of course, the answer would become clear to me a little before Christmas that year. At this point, though I was too blind to see it.

  But, back to Estelle. When I confessed that I’d missed most of what she’d been saying, she accused me of not caring, and remarked how I was just like my sisters, Gemma and Susan, and that at the end of the day, whether a career within the navy worked out for me or not, I could always just go home to a life of luxury.

  Now, something you need to understand about Estelle is that she came from an underprivileged background. She was born on a colony on Tilli, a planet where unemployment was rife, schooling terrible and opportunities more than a little hard to come by. Such colonies were often seen as an embarrassment to the Confederacy, but were something they did little about. Born into such a life, many simply accepted it. Estelle, however, was one of the most tenacious people I had ever met. She would do anything to better herself and prove that she was worth more than that. She had joined the CSN with a number of goals in mind, one being to advance through the ranks and become one of the youngest members of senior
command in history.

  It never really worked out like that, the entire process taking longer than she would’ve liked. At twenty-nine, she felt that she should’ve been a lot further on than she was. By that age, she had wanted to already hold the rank of Lieutenant Commander, and to be pushing hard for Commander, with Captain coming not long after that. She wanted to be in a higher pay bracket, wanted interviews, cover stories, to be seen as a role model for aspiring cadets … all that stuff. Part of the problem was that many of the higher ranks were already oversubscribed as it was, so even if she truly had been The Best, she wouldn’t have been promoted anyway.

  She had therefore seen the ATAF program as the stepping-stone she needed in order to achieve those goals. It’s understandable then that the ejection from the project had ripped her apart, even more so after the reassignment to Temper. Ever since arriving at Spirit, Estelle had been doing whatever she could to escape from the planet. I couldn’t blame her really – she had seen her career come grinding to a sudden halt. We had come from being the cream of the crop to being stuck performing patrols around the Confederation border. Her goals of bringing pride to her family, lifting them well above the poverty line and finding treatment for her brother Jed’s crippling injury, had hit the buffers. With all that pressure, she had started to become extremely frustrated. She took those frustrations out on me that night.

  The problem was that coming from my own background – of forever being in the spotlight and under the microscope, suffering the goads and barbs of the envious, having the slightest imperfection blown out of proportion, and having every aspect of my private life scrutinized – I was something of a fighter, too. It should be known that I was nothing like my sisters. If I was, I’d have spent most of my time being snapped by photographers falling out of cars and nightclubs, so drunk I don’t know what day it is; working my way through some football team; or joining the ranks of the no-knickers club. You have to understand – even after nearly ten years of service, people still saw me as a socialite, someone who had enlisted only to draw further attention, and to encourage talk about how fantastic I was. That couldn’t have been further from the truth. I had made a conscious decision from the day I joined the CSN that I would keep a record of my life, with the goals of encouraging people to strive for their maximum potential and proving that I wasn’t some spoilt little rich girl.