The Battle for the Solar System (Complete Trilogy)

by Sweeney, Stephen

  Dodds was unable to take his eyes off her. He suddenly felt like a teenager again, seeing a naked woman in the flesh for the first time. His libido had taken a nosedive ever since the allied forces had split three years ago, and more so as star system after star system of Helios had fallen.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “What for?” Dodds was still unable to take his eyes off her slender figure.

  “For helping me,” she said. “For being there for me.”

  “I think it’s me that should be thanking you,” Dodds responded, his eyes continuing to soak up every inch of her flesh. She was just as he had fantasied she might be – smooth and slender, yet at the same time curvy in all the right places. She had bruises and cuts from the encounter on the Elpis, but he barely noticed them. “It was you that stood in front of me,” he said, finding his voice again, “willing to take the force of that blow.”

  “It was what I needed to do,” Natalia said quietly.

  Dodds understood. It was what she’d promised herself whilst aboard Cratos, to find a way to make amends for wrongs she believed she had committed. He just wished she’d never found the opportunity to put things right in this way. She’d held her ground instead of running, ready to die to save him. But hadn’t he been prepared to do the same, to make up for his own past mistakes by sacrificing his life for the sake of billions? Back then, it was what he’d found himself wanting to do.

  But it wouldn’t have been what he needed.

  “You’re quiet again. What are you thinking about?” Natalia said. Her fingers were exploring once again, though this time looking for the buttons of his shirt. He took them gently and guided them up to the top ones, letting her start there.

  “What I’ve done,” he said, hearing the regret.

  Natalia looked up into his face, trying to look into his eyes. “Something you should remember,” she stated. “It’s not about how you start, it’s about how you finish. And it’s not about where you’re from, it’s about where you’re at.”

  The buttons were coming undone faster now and Dodds began helping her, until his shirt was open. Natalia ran her hands over his chest as he discarded his shirt. She reached up, curling a hand around his head and pulling him down to meet her lips. It was a far deeper kiss this time around than the last, and they held it for a time before breaking and then going back for more. Dodds felt Natalia’s hand fumbling at his trousers. Dodds removed his boots, casting them into a corner of the room, before allowing Natalia to continue.

  “And it’s not about where you are, it’s about where you’re going,” Natalia continued. “And it’s not about the things you’ve done, it’s what you’re doing now …”

  The clothes were off, Dodds still exploring Natalia’s body with his eyes, she exploring his with her hands.

  “Do you want to stay here with me?” Natalia said.

  Stupid question. Dodds took Natalia and guided her to the bed, where they lay down together. They continued kissing for a while, their hands exploring one another’s bodies. Natalia then rolled on top of him, pressing herself down so that he felt her breasts pushing hard against him. Dodds removed his lips from hers, starting to kiss her neck, before working lower. She responded, sliding herself up to make it easier for him to do so.

  “Do you remember when we cuddled that night in Mythos?” she asked.

  “I do,” Dodds said. “This is better.”

  Natalia giggled and met his lips again, stiffening as his fingers continued to probe. She then rolled onto her back, allowing him to move on top of her.

  “Uh … are you okay with this?” Dodds then asked. “I mean, you can’t see.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time,” Natalia smiled brightly. “And I kind of like it this way, too …”

  XXII

  — Three Little Words —

  Upon blasted, broken and ash-covered ground, Dodds trudged. He was sure he’d been here before, yet couldn’t quite be certain. The earth beneath him was hard as stone and cracked like glass. The burnt remains of … things crunched under his feet. All around him was black, grey and desolate. Only the sky above had colour, filled with billowing red clouds.

  He now knew where he was, having been here many times before. This was Earth. Everything around him had been laid to waste and ruined, all white, grey and ashen, cooked in the resultant inferno of Dragon’s antimatter cannon. He looked about, seeing the path he followed stretching off into the distance and beckoning him onward. He went on, passing the remains of the fields that lay on both sides of him, just recognisable by their uniform, squared layout.

  He came to a turn off, seeing a well-worn trail, a body lying face down halfway up it. It wore a CSN flight suit. He bent down next to the body and examined it. Deep stab wounds had spilled terrible red bloodstains all over the suit. He rolled the body over. ‘Dean’, said the name tag on the front. Dodds looked at the face, expecting to recognise the man who had come to his parents’ house all those years ago. It was not Dean’s face, however, but that of Elliott Parks. The admiral’s eyes locked on Dodds the moment he rolled the body over, seeming to be following him even as he stood up and backed away.

  “I didn’t leave you!” Dodds said.

  Parks said nothing.

  Dodds then saw other bodies, close to a farmhouse that had materialised just in front of him. Five bodies led up to the front door, scattered on the porch and hanging off the wooden stairs. One was that of a blond-haired man, lying next to the still form of a mousy-brown haired woman. Another woman had long, inky-black tresses, whilst a third had shoulder-length blond hair. A dark-skinned man was closest to the house, directly in front of the entrance. Enrique, Kelly, Estelle, Natalia, Chaz. He saw the front door of the house swing open soundlessly.

  A figure emerged slowly, walking with a slight stoop. He didn’t walk far, stepping over the bodies closest to the door and finding a position to settle on the porch, as though he needed to catch his breath. He sat slightly hunched over, his eyes lowered to the ground, presenting the air of a man come to the end of a long-fought task, weary and tired from it. He was clothed in a black uniform, decorated to the nines. The man raised his head and looked directly at Dodds, his face old and wrinkled, his eyes a dull grey. Old, yet distinguished. He sat there for a time, before letting out a long, weary sigh.

  “I know you,” Jason Zackaria said, “you’re the last one. I’ve waited here a long time for you; just for you, Simon Dodds. You’re the final one I must kill, in order to complete the Mission.” He looked about, idly waving the dagger he held in his hand as he did so. “Everyone else is gone. From Mitikas, the Independents, Helios … I told you that I would spare you, so that you could see for yourself. And so, here we are,” he said, rising from his seat, “here, at the end.”

  “We don’t have to do this,” Dodds said, starting to back away from Zackaria, who advanced towards him at an unhurried pace, twirling the dagger in his hand.

  “We do,” Zackaria said. “Now, let’s not make this difficult …”

  Utter terror seized Dodds, and he said nothing more and simply turned and ran. The land around him had become even more open and arid than before. He barely noticed, his only thought to escape from Zackaria, to get away from that dagger, and to find some way to preserve his own life. A dust storm seemed to be rolling in over the horizon, a huge speckled wall rushing forward. Dodds could already feel the first few specks striking him, digging into his eyes, wandering into his mouth and tickling his throat. The handful of flecks then became a torrent of particles and the storm hit him full on, blinding him for an instant and causing him to stumble. It was all that his pursuer needed to catch him.

  Dodds felt his arm caught in a strong grip. He tried to wrench himself free, but was unable to shake off the grasp. There was a twist, a series of sudden and concise movements, and he was face to face with Zackaria. The man was bending him backward, eyes focused directly on his. Zackaria did all this with one hand, the other holding the dagge
r as though to present it to Dodds, that he might look upon the instrument of his death before it was applied. Zackaria’s eyes were cold and pale, filled with nothing but unbending determination to finish this task.

  Dodds tried to speak, but was unable to find the words. The dust-filled wind howled strong about him. Zackaria said nothing, made no further sound, but only raised the dagger, preparing to strike. Dodds awaited the thrust.

  It never came.

  He felt Zackaria’s hold on him slacken, the pressure of his weight lifting. He wondered what had happened to give Zackaria paused. Had he suffered a sudden change of heart? Had the illness that gripped the Pandoran army struck at an inopportune moment? He then saw what had caused Zackaria to falter. A hand had gripped the admiral’s knife arm, tight about the wrist. Zackaria made to break free, but was unable. He was then pulled completely away from Dodds, causing the pilot to toppled over backward.

  Dodds sprang to his feet, seeing Zackaria tussling with the figure that had come to his aid shrouded in the haze and curtain of dust and sand. Zackaria pushed the figure away, swiping at it several times with the dagger, missing with each swing, slicing nothing but the air. The figure than swung a punch, that caught Zackaria on the knife hand and caused the dagger to fly from his grasp. It spun through the air, twisting over and over, before clattering down on the ground next to Dodds. He looked to the dagger as Zackaria did, before Dodds’ mysterious rescuer moved to capitalize on the admiral’s distraction. There was a grapple, a flick of a foot and Zackaria’s legs disappeared from beneath him, the admiral momentarily airborne. The next instant, the figure slammed Zackaria down onto the ground, hard. The figure then looked up.

  And at that moment, Dodds caught the face of his saviour – a man, somewhere in his forties or fifties, bearded and appearing fit for his age. He was tall, dressed in what appeared to be a lab coat over his smart shirt, tie and trousers. Dodds knew who it was. He had never forgotten that face, not in eight years. He never would, either.

  “Go!” Stefan Pitt shouted, looking to Zackaria, who was already pulling himself to his feet.

  Dodds glanced about, trying to see where to run to. Everywhere was a thick wall of yellow and orange dust, visibility barely only a few feet. He moved regardless. He heard a grunt behind him, and saw that Zackaria had knocked Stefan down. The admiral spun around, seeking out Dodds, sighting the pilot and thundering after him, preparing to snatch up the dagger as he came.

  A blur then rushed past Dodds, racing in the opposite direction, cannoning into the admiral. There was a confusing tangle of limbs, Zackaria’s blood-red cloak concealing much of what was happening. The dagger lay where it had been dropped, Zackaria never having reached it. There was a cry from Zackaria and the man emerged from the folds of the cloak, in the grip of a young woman. Red hair, a young face, a small frame.

  “Run!” shouted Poppy Castro. Zackaria jerked, managed to extract a fist for long enough to strike the woman in the face. A second strike was prepared, but restrained a moment later by Stefan, who descended on the two and assisted the young woman. Together, they held Zackaria down, seemingly possessing a strength that went far beyond the admiral’s own.

  “Go,” Stefan said again, more calmly this time. “Run.”

  Zackaria stared at Dodds with absolute contempt, unable to free himself from the grips of his two attackers. The howl of the wind and noise about Dodds was growing stronger, the intensity of the dust storm starting to coat everything an orangey-yellow hue. Dodds needed no further prompts and started off, heading in a random direction, knowing not where he was running, but only that he was going to escape.

  “Simon,” a muffled voice called from behind him. He turned once more to the struggling trio, the three almost lost in the wall of dust. “We … ive … ou.”

  He didn’t catch it. “What?”

  “We forgive you,” Poppy cried, louder.

  You forgive me? The dust storm that surrounded everything was then no longer concealing Poppy, Stefan or Zackaria, all three clearly visible.

  “Yes, Simon,” Stefan said, without needing to raise his voice to be heard. “We do.”

  “After all,” Poppy said, with equal simplicity, “it was only an accident. And you always knew that really, didn’t you?”

  They both smiled.

  Dodds stood stock still as the roar of the wind returned, crashing in his ears, growing louder and louder, to the point where it became almost deafening. The dust descended once more, Zackaria, Stefan and Poppy disappearing behind an impenetrable layer of matter. He felt the wind begin to batter him, threatening to knock him off his feet. In a moment, the storm would consume him, suffocate him, perhaps even destroy him.

  Yet, somehow, he felt completely at ease …

  *

  That wasn’t the howl of the wind that had been battering his eardrums, Dodds realised. It was an alarm! He forced his eyes open, trying to untangle himself from Natalia, who was lying more or less on top of him. She didn’t seem to have noticed the siren. Perhaps the drugs the doctor had given her had made her extra drowsy. Now was not the time.

  “Natalia,” he said, wriggling against her, “you need to get up.”

  “Mmpph,” she complained.

  “Natalia, I think they’re coming! I think the Pandorans are coming!” Dodds said, trying now to push the woman off him as best he could. She felt about for a moment, as though trying to work out why it was still dark. Her hands then moved to the bandages covering her eyes, briefly tugging at them before realising why they were there.

  “Simon …” she said.

  “Natalia, come on!” he urged, “we need to get up!” He helped her to stand, handing her her clothes as he started to pull on his own. The door then chimed.

  “It’s open,” Natalia said.

  The door slid to, revealing the person on the other side. Chaz. He raised a comms device to his mouth. “I’ve found him,” the big man said. “He was exactly where you said he’d be.”

  “Good. Meet us at the flight deck,” Dodds heard Estelle answer.

  “See you there,” Chaz said, clicking off the device.

  “It’s time?” Dodds said, feeling his heart now thumping hard.

  Chaz nodded. “It’s time.”

  *

  Dodds held the flight stick tight as he moved up the field and into position with his wingmates, weaving between a great number of warships. He passed by Griffin, now commanded by Amanda Jenkins; Leviathan, captained, as always, by Aiden Meyers; Cratos, once more under the captaincy of Vincent Lovejoy; Amarok, commanded by Sima Mandeep; and a host of many, many other battleships, frigates and cruisers.

  His radar display was one of the densest he had seen in a long while, a forest of green, many large markers dotted all about the screen. An even greater number of smaller markers covered much of the space in between – the starfighters and bombers. He didn’t need radar to appreciate the numbers, the sheer weight of craft that he passed through as he had approached the head of the line speaking for itself.

  Estelle headed up the five as they moved into position. Directly to Dodds’ right was Kelly. Enrique and Chaz brought up the rear. It occurred to him as they drew to a halt that this was the first time that they had all flown together in close to three years. He wished they’d found more time to do so. He missed the old days, even if they had been some of the darkest of his life.

  “White Knights in position,” he heard Estelle report to Griffin.

  “Acknowledged, Knights. Stand by,” the response came, Dodds recognising it as belonging to Karen Weathers. He sat and waited, looking to the scene about him. Thousands of spacecraft of multiple classes and configurations, holding a line in front of Earth. Behind them were the orbital defence platforms, hundreds of them, armed with accelerators, missiles and plasma turrets. Largely immobile, they would offer up some extra grunt to the second and third rows. Behind the ODPs were the orbital stations. He didn’t know what kind of offensive weaponry they possessed, but like
ly it would be short-range deterrents only. The fully weaponised orbital ring followed.

  And unmissable behind that was Earth, the Pandoran war machine’s final target.

  He found it strange that the sight didn’t evoke any kind of emotion in him. Here he was, waiting to tackle an enemy that they almost certainly couldn’t defeat. So why did he feel so relaxed? Was the impending arrival of the Pandoran army worth so much less than the guilt that had been plaguing his mind for the last eight years?

  His comms popped.

  “All squadrons and units have reported in,” Jenkins said. “We’re as ready as we’re going to be.” There was a trace of unease and nervousness in her otherwise determined tone. Perhaps it was because of what she was preparing to say next. “The Enemy commenced what we have come to recognise as pre-jump preparations and formations around twenty-one minutes ago.”

  Dodds heard his console jingle, a video feed beginning to play out on his main screen, displaying the scene at Alpha Centauri. A number of Imperial and Independent vessels were moving about, stacking up together and turning to face in a similar direction. Starfighters raced past the view, some almost a blur. The feed panned and tracked, focusing in on one vessel in particular. Dragon. It appeared to be holding position towards the rear of the craft that were all clustering together.

  Just as Dodds wondered if the recording was going to reveal the full strength of the total enemy force, a Mantis moved into view, swinging to face the camera, its cannons opening up and ending the transmission. The video feed flickered briefly to another relay point, showing the opposing fleet from a different angle. The feed lasted only a few seconds before it, too, was lost, apparently suffering the same fate as its predecessor, gunned down by something out of view. A third and fourth feed followed, each falling as quickly as the last. The broadcasts were too short to allow Dodds to get an idea of the true weight of the adversaries they were about to face. He’d just have to wait for them to show up.