by Nick Webb
Contents
Title
Dedication
Front Matter
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Chapter Seventy
Chapter Seventy-One
Chapter Seventy-Two
Chapter Seventy-Three
Chapter Seventy-Four
Chapter Seventy-Five
Chapter Seventy-Six
Chapter Seventy-Seven
Chapter Seventy-Eight
Chapter Seventy-Nine
Epilogue
Backmatter
NEPTUNE’S WAR
Book 3
of
The Earth Dawning Series
For Jenny, L., and C.
Would you like a free copy of another bestselling space opera novel?
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www.smarturl.it/freetg
Other books by Nick Webb
The Legacy Fleet Series:
Constitution
Warrior
Victory
Independence
Defiance
Liberty (coming fall 2017)
In addition, there are Legacy Fleet novels written by other authors (with Mr. Webb’s permission): smarturl.it/legacyfleet
The Pax Humana Saga:
1: The Terran Gambit
2: Chains of Destiny
3: Into the Void
Prologue
Ganymede, High Orbit
VSF Arianna King
Captain’s Quarters
Larsen closed his eyes and let out a slow breath as his muscles finally started to relax. He sunk into his plush chair—a rare luxury he hadn’t had in his old quarters aboard the Intrepid, but which Nhean’s Venetian ships had in abundance. The relative silence of his cabin was starting to make a dent on the headache he’d had since he woke up.
He had been in command of the Arianna King for only three weeks, a span that felt simultaneously like a lifetime, and the blink of an eye. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept through the night. Since the destruction of Vesta, Tel’rabim had gone into overdrive—and the Exile Fleet had no choice but to match him.
With no way to know how the Telestine was picking his targets, all they could do was try to head him off at the pass when he engaged. So far, Tel’rabim had only hit one target at a time, and they’d been able to hold him off. But they couldn’t do that forever. His fleet seemed to have grown. It was everywhere at once.
And they were losing ships—and civilians. A week ago, the battle for Ganymede had been fought to a draw, Tel’rabim’s fleet melting away into the darkness, but not before an aid station had been taken out.
The over-blown rumors of humanity’s imminent defeat were constant. Things weren’t there yet. But the number of soldiers in mourning was achingly high, and Larsen did not begin to know how to broach the topic with his new crew members. In a sense, it was not his place. He was new to command, and did not want to insult them by pretending to be an authority on their grief.
And people knew he was part of Walker’s inner circle, which meant people knew he had been involved in the planning of the battle of Vesta.
He had been one of the ones who failed to save their families.
Their families were gone.
Vesta was gone.
They, all of them, needed to simultaneously grieve and blow off some steam. Forget all their troubles and worries.
He had a sudden thought, and sat up in his chair to tap the comm controls. “Captain Larsen to—” what was his new ops chief’s name again? So many new faces… “Lieutenant Zemecki. Lieutenant, as soon as repairs are mostly complete from Ganymede, I want to have a little get-together for the crew down in the fighter bay. Like a hybrid memorial service and celebration. Start solemn, remember the dead, and then break out the booze, dartboards, and dance music. Can you start setting something like that up?”
Silence.
Damn. Did he get the man’s name wrong and now he was getting the silent treatment? So many new recruits. So many fallen friends to replace, and from the beginning of his own command three weeks ago, he’d taken to naming things after the dead. The officer’s mess became the Captain Ed Noringe Memorial hall. The tiny conference room off the bridge was now the General Declan Essa room. Though given all soldiers’ propensity for both acronyms and vulgarity, they’d taken to calling it the GDE room, and from there, the “goddamn effer” room.
Soldiers will be soldiers, after all. And it captured most of their feelings about the former impetuous leader.
And finally, with Walker’s blessing, he’d re-christened the VSF Anemone as the VSF Arianna King.
Lieutenant Theo McAllister himself came and scrawled her name on the hull with a laser-cutter. He spent far more time working on it than Larsen would have expected.
“Zemecki?” He tapped on the panel. “Zemecki, I swear, if you’re—” The panel buzzed at him, indicating a closed channel. Damned Venetian software. Damn that Nhean. “What the hell?” He tapped another few times on the comm panel. Dammit, the damage from Ganymede must have affected the comm system. One more thing to fix.
He leaned back in his comfy Venetian chair. A year ago, he could never have dreamed he’d be here. He had spent his entire life in exile from Earth, and his choice to join the Exile Fleet had been prompted more by a desire for revenge than by hope. If he were honest, he had not really expected that they would take Earth back.
Then they had found the Dawning.
Not a piece of technology like they’d expected
, but a girl. And yet, not quite a girl. And in her, they’d found a weapon to use against the Telestine technology that had always outstripped their own. They had gained ships from both Mercury’s new shipyards and Nhean’s secretly funded Venetian fleet, and followers during Secretary General Essa’s short reign at the UN, and they’d seen their fortunes briefly rise.
They had seen them fall, too. Tragically. Io. Vesta. Tens of thousands killed at Ganymede just five days ago.
If he had seen what was coming, would he have joined? He wasn’t sure. The cost of fighting was too high. He admitted that to himself sometimes.
But the cost of not fighting … was annihilation.
His personal comm buzzed and the pain in his head flared at the sound. Habit, however, was ingrained in him now. He winced as he sat up and pressed the button, even as he remembered that just moments ago, it was on the fritz.
“Larsen.”
“It’s Min.” His XO’s voice was unusually soft. “Uh … my terminal’s on the fritz, could you … come look at it?”
His too? Larsen glared at the comm. There was no reason that Min should have called him, but he didn’t want to be rude. They were all running on far too little sleep. He cleared his throat. “Mr. Min, this is actually Captain Larsen. Do you want me to call one of the techs for you?”
“No.” The answer was instant. A touch of irritation appeared in Min’s voice. “I want you to look at it. We’re all busy. I would like to take a break, too. But the command terminals cannot go down.”
The call ended and Larsen sat staring, open-mouthed, at the comm link.
Min was usually the epitome of courtesy, restraint, and professionalism. The man had never, so far as Larsen had seen, even raised his voice.
That included several desperately fought battles.
The fact that he was snapping now, and essentially ordering his commanding officer to come fix his computer terminal without so much as a “sir” or a “please” was so strange that Larsen had no idea what to make of it at all. Possibly, the man was having a breakdown. He needed to be relieved.
And as the captain of the Arianna King, that meant Larsen needed to take care of it. He shoved his feet into his boots and tried not to think about the fact that he should be resting right now. He had known when he took this job that being a captain was no easy task, and he’d be damned if he let Laura down.
Walker, he reminded himself. Not Laura. Walker. He knew he had a habit of calling her by her given name, and though it was only in his head, he could easily slip someday and embarrass himself. She had never so much as hinted that she welcomed anything more than professional courtesy from him. Even Delaney, a man who was more like her father than anything, was kept at arm’s length. Why should he be any different?
He slipped out into the hall and walked quickly through the not-quite-familiar halls. Everything on a missile frigate was smaller than it was on one of the carriers, for no reason that he could tell. And why the hell were missile frigates called missile frigates?
After all, it wasn’t like carriers didn’t have missiles. Every ship had missiles. But the term missile frigate had stuck around, a relic of humanity’s still-recent pre-apocalyptic past, as if people had run out of new names for things. A light, fast ship more given to reconnaissance than a good fight, the EFS Arianna King was one of the sleekest, most technologically advanced ships of the fleet Nhean had provided. Larsen was lucky to serve on her.
“Are you on your way?” Min’s voice was in his ear. Again, the man sounded curt.
Larsen wondered if anyone on the bridge would believe that his first officer was talking to the captain, and decided not. Min should realize that.
In fact … Larsen stopped, his eyes narrowing. Min had managed to summon Larsen to the bridge in a way that no one would know who he was talking to, if they were only listening to Min’s half of the conversation.
What if that wasn’t an accident?
That was when he heard the first gunshot.
He began to run. He shoved a shocked ensign out of the way, taking just enough time to grab her sidearm in the process. His, he had left on his bed. He vowed never to make that mistake again, and had the sudden, unsettling thought that he might not get the chance to.
The thought, at least, provided a nice jolt of adrenaline.
He pounded around the corner and through the closing bridge doors. His shoulder exploded with pain where it bounced off the airlock-safe door, and he lost his momentum as he stumbled, but he was through.
He had no time to recover. Someone slammed him sideways onto the floor as more gunshots rang out.
“Thank God,” Min said grimly. “It may be too late, but—”
“No time.” Larsen pushed himself up to scan the room quickly, and ducked back down as an officer he only vaguely knew took aim at him. Another bullet made a dent in the doors behind him.
Good. Let them waste their ammo.
“Two by the command desk, one over near the radar, and two more at the communications arrays. That sound right?” He shot Min a look.
“Three by the command desk.” Min’s face was tight. “Emmett’s in on it, and I think they killed the newbie.”
Adrian Zemecki was actually in no way a newbie, nor was he young—in fact, he and Larsen had enlisted together—but despite both his experience and his age, he appeared to be no older than fourteen, and had accepted the nickname of “the newbie” with good grace. He was one of the best members of Larsen’s crew. He’d just tried to call him to set up the memorial service.
And now he was dead.
Larsen readied his sidearm, pictured the last person he’d seen pointing a gun, and rolled to his knees for a single shot before hunkering down out of sight again. There was a scream that he savored more than he wanted to.
“What the hell do they want?” he muttered at Min.
There was no time for an answer. A hand closed around his shoulder and Larsen was yanked upright to see a furious face.
“You couldn’t just stay in your damned cabin for five minutes, could you?”
Larsen decided a punch to the face was a better bet than finding an answer. He ducked an answering swing and drove himself forward to slam his shoulder into his opponent’s solar plexus. There was a choking yell and the man went over backward, gasping for air. Larsen slammed a fist down, not so much caring whether he knocked the man out or just hurt him as long as the guy stayed on the ground and—seeing Min on his way to the command desk and the communications arrays—ran for the radar displays. A shot from his sidearm made one of Min’s opponents duck, and a second blew out another man’s femur. He fell with a scream.
The man at the radar desk was typing coordinates desperately into the navigation computer. Ensign Callahan. He’d come on board with Zemecki. If memory served, they were roommates, and friends.
Friends killing friends. Brothers killing brothers. The Telestines were going to have to hurry, or humanity would destroy itself without any help.
Callahan raised a gun as Larsen came closer, and Larsen saw the terror in his eyes. The gun was shaking wildly in his hand.
“Stay back!” His fingers hovered over the keys. The coordinates were only half complete.
He was young. That hit Larsen in the gut.
And that gun, shaking or not, was pointed right at Larsen.
“Stay … back!” Callahan repeated.
“You killed Zemecki,” Larsen said quietly. “He was your roommate. Your buddy.” There was a yell and a scream from behind him, followed by a crash, but he didn’t look away from the trembling young man. He didn’t drop his gun, but neither did he raise it. “He had a sister, did you know that? He served with me for three years. A good man. A good man.” He met his enemy’s eyes and saw him waver. “What’re you doing, Callahan?”
For a moment, the gun wavered. But just for a moment.
“What needs to be done.” The man’s chin was trembling. “Who’s she helping, huh? She’s a crazy bitch. She does
n’t care about any of us.”
“No,” Larsen agreed. “You’re right. She doesn’t.”
The man swallowed. He clearly hadn’t expected agreement. “Huh?”
“Laura Walker,” Larsen said quietly, “cares about maybe one person in the whole world.” He didn’t like thinking about who that was. It wasn’t Larsen, that was for sure. Not yet, anyway. “But she cares about humanity, even if she doesn’t give a damn about any one person. Do you understand that?”
“Don’t … defend her.” The man jabbed the gun toward Larsen.
“What do you think you’ll accomplish if you kill me?” Larsen asked. “I’m replaceable. All of us are. Just think, though. Think. What would you have done at Vesta? And the people telling you to do this right now, what would they have done, huh?” He took a step forward, slowly, his eyes still locked on the other man’s.
Behind him, the young officer Min was slowly approaching. Larsen did everything in his power not to look at him.
“She knew she was gambling with Callisto Heights!” The man threw the words at him.
Larsen winced on the inside. Callisto Heights Station. The Telestines were making a feint towards it right before they attacked Ganymede. Walker had, sensibly, ignored the feint. But Tel’rabim had indeed spared one of his ships to attack the tiny colony orbiting Callisto, and as a result of her choice, nearly two thousand civilians died.
“Maybe she did. But if you had to sacrifice a colony … or humanity, which would you choose? If a colony was the price of taking the Telestine fleet, what would you do? You don’t have to answer the way she would, but at least think about it. You—”
Min’s hand came down hard on the back of Callahan’s head. They grappled, Min’s hands going for the gun, the other man trying to struggle his way free desperately.
Larsen acted on instinct. One of his hands caught an arm and wrenched the gun free. “Min! Down!”
Min, bless him, didn’t waver. He hit the deck without hesitation and Larsen’s shot caught his opponent dead in the chest. The man staggered back, fingers coming up to the gushing wound and dropping away again, bloody and wet. His incredulous eyes met Larsen’s for a moment, and then he crumpled to the floor and the light faded from his eyes.
