Bane of Worlds (Survival Wars Book 2)

by Anthony James

  “When did we begin escorting transport vessels within the Larax Sphere?” asked Duggan. “Have there been Ghast sightings?”

  Teron steepled his fingers in front of his face – an unconscious gesture which Duggan identified as meaning the Admiral was choosing his words carefully.

  “No direct sightings,” he said at last. “You’ll be aware the Larax Sphere is only a comparatively short jump from the Axion Sector. Charistos and Angax had a lot of commerce with the Larax planets. We have concerns the Ghasts might have attempted to track some of our low-light transport vessels as they fled the destruction. It’s possible the Ghasts’ AIs were able to narrow down the escaping ships’ destinations as they entered lightspeed. We’re certain our enemy still lacks the ability to track our fast military ships, but we’re not nearly so certain they can’t do it to slower craft.”

  Duggan fixed Teron with a gaze. “We have three populated planets in the Larax Sphere. Are you telling me the Ghasts are close to finding them?”

  Teron shifted in his seat. “Three of our transport vessels have gone missing in the last month. They’ve vanished without sending a distress signal.”

  “Nothing at all?” asked Duggan.

  “That’s what I said. If the Ghasts found and destroyed one of these smaller spaceships out in the depths of space, we’d never find out beyond guessing. We aren’t certain it’s the Ghasts.”

  “What do the sim guys tell you about the cause?”

  “Fifty-fifty between a Ghast interception and accidental destruction.”

  Duggan wasn’t buying it for a minute. Accidents did happen on modern spaceships – he knew that only too well. However, they were exceptionally rare and blaming the loss of three ships to accidents in a month was stretching the bounds of credulity. “What do you believe?” he asked.

  “I’m required to give the simulation team the respect they’re due, Captain Duggan. However, I know that odds of fifty-fifty aren’t good odds unless you’re a determined gambler. And I’m not a gambling man.”

  “Escorts for every transport, then?”

  “Until we learn for definite what happened to our missing ships. On the positive side, it gives us the opportunity to introduce our new spacecraft and crew to the dangerous side of the Corps without throwing them straight in at the deep end. You’ll be pleased to learn you are to be a part of this introductory process by mentoring a fellow captain on his first voyage.”

  “What?” asked Duggan, sitting upright.

  “You’re being given command of a brand-new Vincent class fighter in order to escort a heavy-lift mining transport and its personnel to Everlong. Accompanying you on this journey will be Captain Mason Graham on his maiden flight. He’ll have his own spaceship, of course. I’m certain he’ll become an excellent officer, given time and the right guidance. You will, of course, be the senior officer and in charge of the mission.”

  “I don’t need this crap, sir.”

  “You have the experience, Captain Duggan. You cannot shirk your responsibilities by refusing to share it with others.”

  Duggan knew he’d spoken out of place, but couldn’t bring himself to apologise. He wasn’t in the mood for saying sorry. Instead, he nodded to show he accepted Teron’s words, his expression making it clear he didn’t like what was asked of him.

  “On the bright side, it shouldn’t be as dangerous as your trip to locate the ESS Crimson turned out to be. As soon as the heavy-lift transport has delivered its cargo, it’ll return to its base. You’ll stay with it until it returns to the space port on Pioneer and then you’ll be given new duties.”

  “Are we meeting the transport at Pioneer? That’ll add several days to the journey.”

  “No – you’ll rendezvous with the MHL Goliath at the mid-point of its journey. The lifter has already left the space port, along with Captain Graham’s ES Ribald.”

  “That means there’s no time to pick up the new Gunner anywhere other than here on the Juniper,” said Duggan.

  “Correct. The ES Pugilist is in Hangar Bay Two. It’s like your old ship Detriment, except everything’s newer and mostly better. There are one or two additions, which you’ll begin to see on some of the new spacecraft and which will eventually be retrofitted to older vessels, assuming they prove their worth.”

  “What sort of additions?” asked Duggan.

  “Don’t get yourself too excited. New high-impact Lambdas, with one or two changes to the guidance systems. In addition, there are two high-yield nuclear missiles, with their own dedicated launch tubes. After the success you had with those on the Crimson, we’ve had them added to the arsenal of a few of our warships. Ideally, we’d have liked to mount them on a modified Lambda propulsion section, but there’s not been time. I’ll leave you to read through the technical specifications when you’re in flight to your rendezvous point.”

  “That’s fine,” said Duggan. From what Teron had told him, he wasn’t anticipating any great surprises. “How is the Archimedes doing, sir?” he asked. The damage the Space Corps’ flagship had suffered from the Ghast Shatterer missiles was a closely-guarded secret and Duggan had struggled to find out anything concrete.

  “She was badly damaged. The Ghast missiles breached her armour in two places and ripped big holes in the engines and disabled almost half of the port-side weapons and countermeasures.”

  Duggan gave out a low whistle. “The Shatterers must have some payload.”

  Teron’s face twisted and he pursed his lips. “They do, Captain Duggan. Though not enough to have caused as much damage as they did to the Archimedes. They got lucky and struck in a place where two sections were originally fitted together. They found a design flaw, if you will. We should almost be grateful.”

  “How long until it can fly at full capability?”

  “Another eighteen months,” said Teron. “In reality, we’re stripping out some of the redundant systems in order to make room for the new technology we’re hoping will come onstream in the interim. If needed, she could fly at almost full speed tomorrow if we released her from dry dock. She’d be lacking a huge portion of her weaponry, of course.”

  Duggan was left with the impression that Teron wasn’t telling him the whole story. There’d be time to think about that later. “Permission to bring my own crew onto the Pugilist, sir?”

  “I told you to bring them with you, didn’t I? Permission granted.”

  “What about the infantry I had with me before? They were good men and good women.”

  “I’m afraid they’ve been dispersed amongst other ships. You’ve had fifteen picked at random from those who happened to be on the Juniper. I’m damned if I can remember their names and truth be told I’ve got better things to do with my time than spend it looking at troop lists. I’ve got the roster here.” Teron picked up a piece of paper and handed it over. “Here we are, centuries after we were promised a paperless society and my desk is covered in the stuff.”

  Duggan took the paper and looked at the names. He struggled to suppress a smile as he rose from his seat. “With your leave, I’ll go and take a look at the Pugilist, sir.”

  “Of course. I’ll have the Juniper feed through the specifics of your flight. Goodbye, Captain Duggan and good luck, though I’m sure you won’t need it.”

  Chapter Two

  The ES Pugilist was one of two Gunners in Hangar Bay Two. Duggan didn’t need to ask which one was which. The closest of the two was a dull grey, with a blackened nose and signs of extensive heat blistering. The second had a peculiarly glossy sheen from the lacquer they applied at the factory. Duggan didn’t know why they bothered, since the coating was always burned away as soon as the spacecraft entered a planet’s atmosphere at anything above ten percent of its maximum speed. The Pugilist also had its name emblazoned along the side, in five-metre-high letters. The painted letters wouldn’t last any longer than the lacquer. Other than that, the two spacecraft looked identical. The hull design was a proven shape which they’d never seen fit to alter
in decades.

  Hangar Bay Two was vast, with hundreds of people flowing around. It took Duggan almost five minutes to reach the Pugilist’s boarding ramp, since he had to make his way around people, vehicles and maintenance equipment. The ramp was down, with two soldiers at the bottom of it. They looked alert, with their gauss rifles held in readiness, though Duggan couldn’t for the life of him think why they’d be agitated. Perhaps it was the presence of all the people in the area. As he came close, they recognized him, presumably from having seen his face on their assignment notices. They both saluted.

  “Sir, welcome to the ES Pugilist, sir!” said the closest, a woman with blonde hair and sharp eyes.

  “Who’s aboard?” asked Duggan.

  “All fifteen of our squad are ready to go, sir. And Commander McGlashan is on the bridge.”

  “Excellent. Lieutenants Chainer and Breeze should be here shortly. They know where they’re going.”

  “Sir,” said the woman.

  Duggan was about to walk past when he stopped. “What’re your names?” he asked.

  “Infantrymen Powell and Casper, sir,” replied the woman, her voice crisp, yet polite.

  “You look on edge,” said Duggan.

  “Sir?” she stuttered.

  “What’s bothering you?”

  “Nothing, sir. Sergeant Ortiz told us to be alert, that’s all.”

  Duggan nodded to himself and made his way up the ramp. The interior was exactly the same as every other Vincent class – cramped and with pockets of stifling heat, interspersed with areas of bone-biting chill. He knew before he reached the bridge that it would be far too hot and he knew exactly what it would smell like. He wasn’t disappointed.

  “We could be back on the Detriment again, sir,” said McGlashan with a broad smile.

  “Feels like I never left it,” Duggan admitted. “A bit shiny for my liking.”

  “And there’re no rips in the seat coverings,” agreed McGlashan, sitting in her chair. It squeaked and crackled like the cheap leather it was.

  “We’re on escort duty,” said Duggan. “Double escort duty.”

  McGlashan stopped what she was doing and looked at him. “From the look on your face, I take it that’s not good?”

  “We’re taking a heavy lifter to Everlong – a mining planet. We’ve got company. A second Gunner is coming with us. It’s got a fresh captain. Fresh crew as well, I imagine.”

  “Backup is always good.”

  “Not when I have to hold hands.”

  McGlashan looked over her shoulder to make sure no one was approaching the bridge. “Sir, the new bloods are what we need to keep fighting the war.”

  “They are.”

  “You don’t sound convinced.”

  “I feel as if I’m getting to old to teach. Too many bad habits.”

  “I learned more in the first two months I spent on a ship than I did in the four years I spent training to come on a ship. You have an opportunity to pass on what you’ve learned, sir. To beat the Ghasts.”

  Duggan sighed. “I’ll give the man a chance, Commander.”

  “I’m sure you’ll treat him fairly, sir,” she said. It almost sounded like an order. “When are we leaving?”

  “As soon as we’re all aboard.”

  “That won’t be long. The ship’s life support has detected the arrival of Lieutenants Chainer and Breeze. We’ve got Sergeant Ortiz with us.”

  “So I hear. I think she’ll be disappointed when she learns about our destination.”

  “No chance of a scrap this time?”

  “I wouldn’t go so far as to say that. We shouldn’t need to put down on the planet’s surface, at least.”

  While they waited for Breeze and Chainer to arrive, Duggan ran through a series of check routines on the Pugilist’s weapons, guidance and engines. He was suspicious of new spacecraft, ever since an accident on an Anderlecht cruiser he’d captained in the past.

  “It looks good to go,” he said. “They put this ship together in record time, but they don’t seem to have cut any corners.”

  “I’ll be holding tight on the first lightspeed jump,” said McGlashan.

  “It came to the Juniper at Light-F. A gentle cruise to run in the engines. We’ll need to go a lot faster than that to reach the rendezvous in time.”

  Lieutenant Bill Breeze arrived first, with Lieutenant Frank Chainer right behind. Chainer was carrying a six-pack of hi-stim cans.

  “So new you can small the paint drying, sir,” he said. Then, he held the cans aloft, like a supplicant at the temple steps. “I brought supplies.”

  “He also wanted to stop off for a coffee on the way,” said Breeze with a wink.

  Duggan pointed at their seats. They took the hint and sat. McGlashan powered up their consoles. “The Juniper has already fed our destination coordinates into our mainframe, sir,” she said.

  “Start the engines up,” said Duggan.

  There was a high-pitched whine, followed by the familiar coarse vibration. It rapidly settled down to a smooth, underlying thrumming. The engines on a warship didn’t take much warming up.

  “Gravity drive at full power and ready to go,” said Breeze.

  “Request clearance to leave.”

  “The Juniper’s given clearance, sir. Hangar Bay Two should be empty of personnel in ten minutes.” Chainer cleared his throat. “The AI has requested you engage the autopilot.”

  “Requested?” asked Duggan.

  “It won’t open the doors until you do so.”

  “Very well.” Duggan activated the Pugilist’s automatic control systems and sat back in his chair.

  Ten minutes later, the heavy external doors that separated the Juniper from the vacuum outside slid open. The Pugilist lifted smoothly from the hangar floor, its silver alloy hull bathed in the strobing deep red of the internal warning lights. Under the guidance of its mainframe, the spacecraft exited at precisely the correct speed, and maintained an exact distance from the walls of the aperture. McGlashan looked at Duggan and raised an eyebrow. He shrugged in response.

  “I can’t act like a hooligan every time, Commander.”

  The bulkhead screen showed an image of the Juniper as it receded into the distance behind the Pugilist. None of the crew spoke for a while – there was something soothing about watching the enormity of space. Minutes passed, until the incredible bulk of the orbital was nothing more than a silvery dot, mankind’s largest space-borne structure reduced to insignificance by the infinity of its surroundings. Glesta-2 was visible to one side – a large, grey sphere of rock and common metals. Soon the Juniper would be lost from sight as it proceeded on its wide circuit about the planet.

  “Power up the deep fission drive.”

  “On it now. Seventy-eight seconds till they’re ready. That’s a bit quicker than normal – they must have been doing some optimisation.”

  “Could be they’ve already learned something from the Crimson’s Dreamer core,” said Chainer.

  “Or given the Vincent mainframes a bit more oomph,” said McGlashan.

  “Our technology’s moving forwards,” Breeze replied. “That’s all that matters.”

  “Go to full speed as soon as you’re able, Lieutenant.”

  “Will do, sir.”

  Duggan kept an eye on the fission drive readouts, prepared to cut them off if he saw anything anomalous. There was nothing untoward and a series of gauges climbed steadily, until the mainframe completed its calculations and decided the engines were ready to fire. There was a rumbling thump to signify their shift to lightspeed.

  “We’re a fraction above Light-H,” said Breeze. “Slightly faster than the Detriment.”

  “It’s a relief we’re not waking up from unconsciousness,” said Chainer. Lightspeed jumps on the Crimson had been brutally harsh on the human occupants of the ship. The Pugilist was much slower, and the life support systems had an easier time keeping things stable.

  Duggan was also relieved. It would have only been
a matter of time before one of the Crimson’s crew or the ship’s infantry had been seriously hurt. Still, he knew which of the two vessels he’d prefer to be in command of.

  “Give me the Crimson any day,” said McGlashan, as if she’d read his thoughts.

  “Yeah,” said Chainer. “I never did mind a few minor lacerations in the line of duty.”

  “How long till we rendezvous?” asked Duggan.

  “Six days until we stop, give or take. After that, it looks like we’ve got another ten days until we get to our final destination. A place called Everlong. Why the mid-flight break?” said Breeze.

  “It’s a mining planet. The Space Corps is running low on dense metals. They’ve recently found a whole load of what we need, waiting to be dug up. All we have to do is escort a heavy lifter to the planet. We’re meeting it somewhere in the middle of the journey.”

  “I’m checking the specs on the ship we’re meeting, sir. It’s big and slow. I’m not even sure if it’ll scrape past Light-E. Why are we escorting it anyway? Everlong is in a safe area of Confederation space.”

  “It might not be safe now, Lieutenant. That’s why we’re coming along with it.”

  “The Ghasts aren’t letting up, are they?” asked Chainer. “We might be hiding from them, but they’re not going to stop looking.”

  “Did you think they would?” asked McGlashan.

  “No, Commander. I’ve seen the same things you’ve seen. I didn’t for one minute think they’d let up.”

  Duggan pushed himself upright. The chair’s leather covering squeaked and made him wonder why they’d tried to save coppers on the seats, given how much the warship cost to build. “Call the squad to the mess room and we’ll go down and meet them. I’ll let them know where we’re off to.”

  Chapter Three

  The meeting didn’t take long. There wasn’t much to tell the squad about where they were going or why. Duggan sized up the men and women he’d been provided with – there were a couple who looked like they’d not seen much action, but the rest had the calm, self-assurance that suggested they’d seen their fair share of combat. Sergeant Ortiz hadn’t changed at all in the year since she’d last served on one of Duggan’s ships. She was hard and competent, with lines at the corners of her eyes to betray how long she’d been in the Corps.