by Finn Gray
“Very few people know about Stone Mountain; that’s what we call the base,” Trent began. “You have to be vetted out the ass before you can be deployed there, and you don’t get rotated back out into the world unless they’re absolutely certain of your reliability. Loose lips never leave the ship.”
Rory nodded. The fact that Trent had apparently cleared this vetting process said a lot about her. But how did a drill instructor merit such a high-level clearance?
“How is it that no one has discovered this base?” Cassidy asked.
“It’s almost impossible to see it from satellites due to the terrain and the way the base was constructed. Besides, no one lives on, or even travels to Soria. Radiation levels are safe these days, at least, reasonably safe. But the fallout changed things.”
“Changed them how?” Jemma’s voice sounded small and weak.
“The landscape itself was transformed. There are craters everywhere, lakes and rivers that weren’t there before. The bedrock was fractured and then eroded by underground rivers, so you never know where it’s safe to step. Some spots appear rock-solid until you put your full weight down. And then…” She whistled and pointed down.
“That doesn’t sound promising,” Monk mused.
“That’s just the land. The flora and fauna that survived have mutated. It’s like an alien world down there. We like it that way because it keeps intruders out. You just don’t want to get stuck down there.”
“Is there nowhere else we can go?” Monk asked.
Trent shook her head. “Of the bases that haven’t yet been overrun by the Memnon traitors, there are none where I’d feel safe. And some installations just aren’t there anymore. There was a base on the Peacock Islands, but it’s been washed away by a tsunami. Stone Mountain is our best bet.”
“But can we just fly directly to the base?” Tension hung in Marson’s every word.
“That’s the plan. If communications aren’t restored by the time we get there, I’ll have to trust they can at least get a visual on us. Worst case, we set down at a distance and make our way there on foot.”
“What happens when we get there?” Rory asked.
“Join the fight.”
“And what if the Memnons have overrun it?” Cassidy pressed.
“Did I ever tell you what a pain in the ass you can be?” Trent growled. “If there’s nowhere on the surface that’s safe, nowhere we can join the flight, we’ll have to trade this sub-orbital carrier and find one that will get us to the fleet. We’ve still got battlecruisers in…”
A loud boom and a blinding flash of light cut Trent off mid-sentence. The transport tipped precariously to port. If it weren’t for the straps holding them in place, the recruits would have found themselves eating bulkhead.
“Bloody hell!” Trent swore. “Where did that missile come from?”
Rory felt Jemma squeezing his hand in both of hers as Trent righted the craft.
“Memnons?” Marson asked.
“No, coastal defenses.” Trent gritted her teeth and took the transport into a steep dive. “Automated. Can’t believe I let that happen.”
The engines whined and Rory’s stomach did a flip flop as their trajectory grew steeper. Another explosion and the craft shuddered.
“Mother of a dead goat!” Trent swore. She brought the craft out of the dive and leveled it off. A palpable sense of relief spread through the cabin.
“Thank the gods,” Monk breathed. “I thought we were going to crash.”
“Actually,” Trent said, her voice devoid of emotion, “that’s exactly what we’re about to do.”
Chapter 3
Battlecruiser Dragonfly
Commander Dominic Graves stood on the bridge and stared down at a vid screen, taking in the most recent visual he had been sent—a brief clip of the Peacock Islands drowning beneath a tsunami, most likely caused by a nuclear detonation beneath the ocean’s surface. He still could not believe all that had happened.
Many centuries ago, religious zealots called the Memnons had fled the Aquaria system in the aftermath of their failed rebellion. Recently, it had been learned that many of their number had remained behind, their descendants carrying on the faith. And now they had risen up. Mutiny on every ship in the fleet, and the same on every military base on both planets. And worst of all, a nuclear holocaust on Hyperion and Thetis, the two habitable planets in the Aquaria system.
“I guess it’s officially the Second Memnon War,” he said to no one in particular.
Captain Nathaniel Hunt, callsign Hunter, stood alongside him, gazing at nothing. He was pale, his eyes misty. The man hadn’t been right since learning about the devastation on the surface of Hyperion. That wasn’t acceptable. Graves needed his Commander of the Air Group to be fit to command, and to fly. He would have to keep an eye on his CAG.
“Sir, is there any more news about Atalan?” Hunter asked. Hunter’s wife, who had lived years in a coma with no hope of recovery, resided in an Atalan care center.
Graves fixed him with a hard look. It wasn’t that he felt no sympathy for Hunter. Quite the opposite, in fact. But the officer had a job to do and grieving for the lost could only hinder him in the discharging of his duties.
“As you are aware, Captain, the last report said that the city has been completely obliterated. That seems final enough to me that it would not require any updates.”
Nearby, Meena Patel, who had been promoted from Tactical Officer to XO, flashed Hunter a look of sympathy. She had lost loved ones, too. Hells, they all had.
Hunter didn’t even flinch despite the harshness of Graves’ words. His eyes remained focused on some faraway place.
“Sir, there’s a lot of confusion down on the surface. It’s possible that not everything has been destroyed. There could be survivors.”
“If we hear anything different, I will tell you,” Graves said.
Hunter’s eyes lit up. He snapped to attention, and turned to face the commander.
“Sir, permission to take a Mongoose and recon the surface? I could bring back survivors.”
“Denied!” Graves pounded his fist on the console. “Gods dammit, Hunter! I need you to do your job. Now, give me a status report on the air group.”
Hunter’s shoulders slumped, his burst of energy already gone. He kept his chin up but did not meet Graves’ eye.
“Sir, we lost, um, seven birds, or six, when the Memnons tried to mutiny.”
“Which is it? Six or seven?”
Hunter frowned. “Six. I think.”
Graves gritted his teeth, lowered his voice, leaned in close.
“Son, the best CO I ever had was a son of a bitch, but he was an honest son of a bitch. Sometimes that’s exactly what a man needs, even if it means hearing things that he doesn’t want to hear. For now, there is nothing you can do for your wife or anyone else except focus on winning this war.”
Now Hunter did flinch. Years ago she had been involved in a serious accident which had left her in a coma. She had existed in a vegetative state ever since. But it wasn’t love for her that motivated Hunter; it was guilt. The marriage had been terrible and the two had been headed for divorce when tragedy struck. Hunter was also involved in an affair with one of his crew mates, which added fuel to his guilt. It was one of those things Graves pretended not to know about so he didn’t have to risk losing a pair of excellent officers and pilots.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Hunter said quietly. “Maybe it’s terrible of me, but I’m not all that shaken by the losses we suffered on the ship or among the fleet. I’m not happy about them, but that’s the life we signed up for. If it was anyone other than my wife, I think I could bear it.”
“You will bear it,” Graves said gruffly. “You must. Right now, the Memnons are winning. Hells, they might have already won. We’re still trying to figure it out. The only way you can help the people who are still alive down there is to fight. Can you do that?”
Hunter nodded.
“Good. Do we have
enough pilots for our remaining birds?”
“Just barely, sir. We’ll have to press the new fledgies into action, but I think they’re ready.”
Fledglings, or “fledgies” as the veteran pilots called them, were trainee pilots. Hunter and his second in command, Serena Sabrakami, callsign “Sabre,” had just finished training up a trio of new Ensigns.
“Very well. Get back to your air group. Make sure they’re ready for anything. And keep an eye out for any sleepers who still might cause trouble. Dismissed.”
Hunter saluted smartly, turned, and left the bridge.
“Gods, I hope he can pull it together,” Graves mumbled. “XO,” he said to Patel, “what’s the disposition of the fleet? Any new information?”
The tall woman dark of hair and skin, cleared her throat. “Sir, all of the new-gen cruisers are out of commission. Ares and Atlas were destroyed. The Memnons set off explosives in the energy cores when they realized their mutinies were failing.”
Graves let out a low grunt. He didn’t care for the new wave of battlecruisers. Too much reliance on highly advanced technology and thus too many vulnerabilities, such as an energy core that could easily destroy the ship it was intended to power.
“The other two, Cronus and Endeavor, have suffered enough damage to render them useless. There were enough Memnon infiltrators in those two crews that they were able to steal almost all of the ships’ Cobra fighters and turn them on their own ships. Now, neither can fight or even make a jump to hyperspace.”
“And if they don’t manage to weed out every single Memnon, their ships could suffer the same fate as Ares and Atlas. What about the battlecruisers?”
“Osprey suffered damaged to its flight deck but her guns are functional and she has some birds already in the air that are now on patrol.” Patel consulted the vidscreen at her station. “Kestrel and Skylark are fully operational, Harrier is in fair condition, should be up to scratch soon. Swallow is damaged, out of combat until she has time to dock and make repairs. Thunderbird is dead.”
“Dead?”
“The Memnons sabotaged her defenses then used her own air wing against her. There was no one to come to her aid. She’s just a drifting hulk now.”
Graves hated to hear the news. He had many friends on board Thunderbird, including its commander, Phillip St. Pierre. “Any survivors?”
“A handful escaped to Kestrel, but most of the crew are dead, including the entire command. No idea of the total numbers.”
“What happened to her birds after they took out Thunderbird?”
“The Memnons who took control of them joined the fight against the rest of the fleet. We assume most have been destroyed, though at least some fled in the direction of Thetis.”
“Thetis?” Graves frowned. His home planet, and all its inhabitants, had always been treated as second-class citizens in the Aquaria system. Many Aquarians would be all too happy to believe Thetis was involved in the uprising.
“There’s more, sir.” Patel’s voice held a note of nervousness.
“What’s that?”
“Sir, Admiral Cole is dead. Killed during the uprising on board the Endeavor. Ayu Sasaki has taken command.”
Graves shook his head. So many dead. “That’s a shame. Cole was a pain in my ass, but a good man.”
“That’s not all,” Patel continued. “Also dead are commanders Hamm and Morgan.” She fell silent, fixed Graves with an expectant look.
It took him a few moments before it dawned on him.
“Hold on. Are you certain?”
“Absolutely. Confirmed and reconfirmed.” A ghost of a smile played at the corner of her lips. “You are now the senior officer in the fleet.”
A smattering of applause broke out among the crew.
“Admiral Graves,” communications officer Christopher Cassier said. “It’s got a ring to it.”
The others laughed, but Graves quieted his team with a single wave of his hand.
“Thank you, but I’m not an admiral. I’m just the highest-ranked survivor. Let’s not lose sight of the reason we’re in this position. We’ve still got a war to fight.”
The calm lasted for only a few seconds before Cassier let out a low exclamation of surprise.
“Sir, we’ve received an odd communication. Very odd.”
Graves didn’t like what he heard in the man’s tone. It couldn’t be good news. “Let’s hear it.”
Cassier cleared his throat.
“By order of Admiral Vatcher…” He paused and flashed a quizzical glance around the bridge. “All ships are ordered to rendezvous at Juna immediately.” Juna was a moon of Thetis.
The order was met with a cacophony of replies.
“Admiral Vatcher?”
“He’s just a kid.”
“Why the moon? We need to get into the fight!”
“Maybe it’s a Memnon trap.”
All of these things had flashed through Graves’ mind the moment he heard the communication.
“Get Vatcher on the horn. I need confirmation.” Simon Vatcher was a lot of things: vain, power-hungry, and well-connected, but Graves was certain the man was not a Memnon. The communication itself could be fake. Part of the Memnon plot.
“There’s another message, sir.” This time Cassier didn’t wait to be told to read it.
“By order of her Imperial Highness, Valeria Navarre, Simon Vatcher has been promoted to admiral of the fleet.”
“Why in the hells does she think she has the authority to appoint the admiral?” Patel asked. “We’ve got her older sister on board. Not older by more than a minute or two, but still. She’s the damned empress.”
“We’ll get to the bottom of it,” Graves said, “as soon as I talk to Vatcher. And somebody get Her Majesty down here. I have a feeling we’re going to need her.”
Chapter 4
Battlecruiser Dragonfly
Lina Navarre rose slowly from her dreamlike stupor, interrupted by the buzzing of the com in her room. It took her a few seconds to realize where she was. She’d been rescued from Memnon kidnappers and taken to the battlecruiser Dragonfly. Now she was under the protection of its crew, Commander Graves in particular. She was safe. At least, she hoped so.
Rubbing her eyes, she stumbled over to the door and tapped the com. “Yes?”
“Your Majesty,” a man’s voice began, “you are needed at the bridge.”
Your majesty? And then a wave of nausea swept over her as she remembered the rest. Her family was dead, all but her and Val. She was no longer Imperial Princess. She was now Her Imperial Majesty Catalina Navarre, First of her Name.
“Oh Gods,” she whispered. “How could I have forgotten?”
“Your Majesty, are you all right?”
“Yes. I’ll need a moment to get ready.”
“Commander Graves said it was urgent,” the voice said. “I’m to escort you to the bridge.”
Already they were trying to order her around. That wasn’t going to work. One of the many lessons she had learned from her grandfather was to be careful about how you constructed the foundation of every relationship, personal or professional. If she permitted them to lead her around by the nose as if she were a vapid young girl, that was all she’d ever be in their eyes. She was the empress. She might not have much of an empire left to rule, but she would rule whatever remained of it.
“Tell Commander Graves that I would prefer to receive the invitation directly from him. I’ve already been abducted once by Memnons posing as loyal Aquarians. I’m sure you understand.”
“Yes, Majesty,” the man said at once. At least he accepted her authority. One tiny battle won. A lifetime’s worth to go, she supposed.
As she waited to hear from someone she trusted, she took the time to wash her face, smooth her hair, and straighten her clothing. They’d outfitted her with a plain navy uniform like those the officers wore, but without decoration. She didn’t mind it. It gave her at least some semblance of authority. On her left breast she pinne
d the sigil of the imperial family. It was actually a brooch that had belonged to her grandmother, but on the stark uniform it actually made her look official. She was grateful the Memnons hadn’t taken it from her.
The com buzzed again. This time, there was no waiting for her to answer.
“Your Imperial Majesty,” Commander Graves said, “I understand your caution, but we are at war and time is of the essence. You are needed on the bridge immediately.”
Don’t let him ruffle you. He’s accustomed to being the top dog on his ship.
“I accept your invitation, Commander. When there is time we will establish a protocol for you to make such requests on my time. I will be there shortly.”
Graves muttered something that sounded like a curse, but she ignored it. She was already on the way out the door, where two impatient looking marines waited. One opened his mouth but she cut him off. Only one person here would be giving orders.
“Take me to the bridge immediately.”
The bridge was where they already planned to take her, but they responded instantly to her tone of command, their posture changing in an instant.
“Right this way, Your Majesty,” one marine said.
When she arrived on the bridge a concerned group of officers awaited her arrival. Graves flashed a stern look, but greeted her with a bow. Really, it was only a bob of the head but it was probably as much as she could expect from him considering the circumstances. She paused, then attempted to affect the air of authority her grandmother had taught her. Back straight, chin slightly raised, eyelids lowered a touch. If done properly, she appeared to be looking down her nose at everyone else, even those taller than her.
It worked. The remainder of those assembled hastily bowed.
“What has happened?” She was not about to let Graves or anyone else take the lead. “Are we under attack again?”
“No, Majesty,” Graves said.
“What is the situation on the surface?” she snapped, maintaining control of the conversation. Let it seem like Graves was briefing her at her command.
