by Rob Dearsley
The Terran Legacy: Book 2
By Rob Dearsley
The characters, names, and events as well as all places, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the writer’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
© 2020 Rob Dearsley
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
ISBN: 9798654921741
Visit the author’s website at
http://www.robdearsley.com
to order additional copies.
Illustration © Tom Edwards
http://tomedwardsdesign.com
Also by Rob Dearsley
Terran Legacy Book 1: Slave Mind
Mum, Dad, I love you guys!
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Interlude One
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Interlude Two
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Interlude Three
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Interlude Four
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Epilogue
One
(Liberty Station, Nowhere)
The sounds of hushed conversations and the soft clack of pool balls flowed through the twilight of the recreation room. Gareth Lloyd never understood why the Nowhere officials had gone for the ‘Pub’ vibe for the recreation room, but it did have a homely feel.
Lloyd’s crime novel glowed sullenly from his flex-screen on the low table beside him. Reading was normally his escape, but today he couldn’t settle. Pushing up from the embrace of the comfy chair, he marched over to the curved, floor to ceiling window and looked out.
Beyond the curved pane, Nowhere spread out around him, the only illumination the stations’ navigation lights. A colony way out in the void, away from the gravity and light of any stars. Some called it an amazing feat of engineering. But others called it running away. Hiding in the void while the rest of the Colonised Systems fought a losing battle against the ancient Terran Warships. Lloyd wasn’t sure where he stood on that count. He’d followed Jerome out here rather than go back to the front and fight the Terrans.
Lloyd’s eyes drifted to the huge, hand-like structure in the centre of Nowhere, each of its five, grasping fingers half a kilometre long. The gateway was their link back to the Systems. Really, the only reason all this was viable.
“Hey,” Slater said, clapping Lloyd on the shoulder. Slater’s face was a study in hard angles, high cheekbones, bright blue eyes and dark hair pulled into a tight tail. Her orange pilot’s jacket a mirror of Lloyd’s own. “Watching the traffic?” She gestured with her coffee cup to the Gateway.
Within the grasping fingers, the swirling blue of a Subspace slipway formed.
“Wait for it,” Lloyd said as a pair of black specks flashed into existence against the blue. Freight ships coming off the subspace highways.
A trio of Systems Defence Force ships broke their moorings and started toward the gate. The stretched-out trapezoid of a heavy cruiser – the SDF Lorca – accompanied by the squad rectangles of scout cruisers. More specks flashed into existence within the grip of the Gateway.
The overhead speakers let out a two-tone chime. “Alpha flight, report to flight deck one for immediate launch.”
“Looks like they’re playing our song,” Slater said, dumping her coffee into the recycling.
Lloyd followed Slater from the gloom of the rec room, wincing against the stark lighting of the hallway.
“You think it’s the SDF picket again?” Slater asked.
Of course, it bloody was. The SDF was the Human Colonies’ military, and Nowhere was an independent state. One the Systems’ Government didn’t want to succeed. “What else? You saw the Lorca moving into position.”
“They’re trying to starve us out,” Slater said, again stating the obvious. “What do we do?”
They were just fighter pilots, the answer to that would be decided way above their heads. “Same as always, we play the game.”
Lloyd and Slater ducked through an open door into the bustle of the flight deck. Deckhands hurried to and fro, prepping the fighters for launch. The low-slung aggressive forms of three Wolfhound Attack Fighters dominated the bay. Two of the craft were being prepped for launch.
A young tech garbed in an orange jumpsuit handed Lloyd his flight helmet and a flex screen with his orders. “Ready for launch in two minutes, sir.”
Lloyd nodded to the man and scanned the flex. The usual orders, guard the supply ships, avoid trouble and don’t, under any circumstances, shoot at the Systems Defence Force ships. They couldn’t just soft-ball this indefinitely, and it was only a matter of time before someone started shooting.
Sighing, he folded the flex into the wrist pouch on his jacket and climbed up into his Hound. The next pad over, Slater climbed up the hunched form of her own fighter.
The fighter seat conformed to his back as Lloyd’s hands settled onto the controls. He flicked through the pre-flight. The statuses turned green one at a time. Ready to fight. The launch command came over the com and he gunned the engines, sending the hound screaming from the flight deck, Slater a beat behind him.
This was how it was meant to be. Him, the fighter and the endless night. Total freedom.
Slater pulled up alongside him. “What’s the play?” she asked over the com.
“Bigwigs back on Liberty Station are politicking. We just play sheepdog for the cargo ships.” Maybe not total freedom, but he wouldn’t give up flying for anything.
“What if the SDF gets frisky?”
“Cover and counter-fire only. Do not kill any SDF assets.”
“You mean ass-hats, right?”
Lloyd laughed and switched to a private channel. “Please don’t insult the military on an open channel. Their ships are bigger than ours.”
Speaking of which… He pushed the hound’s engines, sending her into a shallow arc that would take them beneath the bulks of the SDF cruisers. Lights from the nearby habitats and the gateway structure highlighted the long, lean lines of the cruisers.
The heads-up display picked out close-in weapons modules and missile launch hatches on the hull above him, along with Slater’s callout, off to his right. The two of them against the universe. They’d been fast friends since flight school and had managed to serve together ever since. She was like family to him.
He’d felt a bit guilty. He was the one who’d wanted to run, follow Jerome and his “Caravan to the Stars” rather than fight a losing battle against the Ancient Terrans.
“There they are,” Slater said over the com.
There they were. Heads-up callouts sprang up as the hound marked a small cluster of transport ships.
“Is that a Starlight Franklin?” Slater asked. “I didn’t think they made those anymore.”
Lloyd flicked through the scanner details. There it was. The distinctive arrowhead silhouette rested between two boxy Sheridan Cargo ships. He’d never seen a Franklin before. The cargo ships were defenceless, sheep.
Slater beside him, he brought the hound around to stand between the small group of cargo ships a
nd the SDF blockade. No matter where they went, he and Slater always found themselves in the same place. Between the sheep and the lions. Guard-dogs.
He thumbed the com onto the general channel. “This is Captain Lloyd of the Nowhere defence corps. These cargo ships have registered essential supplies.”
According to Lloyd’s systems, the reply came from the SDF Lorca. “This is Lorca actual. We both know I can’t let them pass without inspection.” The captain sounded more bored than anything else.
Lloyd could sympathise, they’d been dancing this dance for the last two weeks. A mindless two-step that no-one enjoyed. He knew the ‘inspections’ would take just long enough for perishable supplies to spoil and half the rest would mysteriously go missing. “Lorca, I understand. But we have time-sensitive supplies coming in.” Same old, same old.
A warning flashed on the heads-up. One of the cargo ships had broken formation and was heading toward the Systems Defence Force picket. The large spheres that formed the aft hull marked it as an Ivanova, a fuel tanker. What the heck? They’d never get past the SDF ships.
He flicked back to the squad channel. “Slater, shadow that tanker. Get them back with the others.”
Slater’s hound peeled off toward the Ivanova.
The Lorca was broadcasting across the board. Demanding the tanker break off or risk being shot. If the SDF started shooting, it would go downhill fast. But that damn tanker wasn’t backing off or changing course.
The course. Something about it bugged Lloyd, beyond the fact they’d rabbited toward the Systems Defence Force picket.
“Lorca, hold fire. We can deal with this. Repeat, hold fire,” Slater shouted over the open com channel. “Tanker Five-One-Nine, break off and return to formation, right the hells now!”
Lloyd flicked over to a private channel with Liberty Station. “Captain Lloyd to Liberty Control, requesting backup. Things are about to snowball out here.”
Warnings sprang up on Lloyd’s HUD as the Lorca’s weapons came online, tracking the tanker. Other picket ships started painting the tanker with targeting scanners.
The cargo ship stayed on course, not responding to hails. Was there even a pilot? Any sane person would have changed course by now. They were still heading straight for the Lorca.
Straight for them. Not a waiver.
Oh hells. “Slater, stop that cargo ship. Now.”
“Sir?”
“Take out the engines. Kill it, quickly.”
She must have heard the urgency in his voice. Her hound slipped in behind the Ivanova, her weapon lighting off. Tracer fire slammed into the back of the cargo ship, shredding the engine module in a wash of fire as fuel and oxidant combined. Another burst and the Ivanova’s running lights flickered and died.
Still carried forward by its momentum, the Ivanova went into a tumble. The heads-showed it drifting clear of the picket ships.
Weapons fire flashed from one of the SDF scout cruisers. Warnings flashed on the heads-up. He didn’t even have a chance to react before the rail-gun round ripped through the Ivanova.
What the heck did they think they were doing? The cargo ship had been neutralised. Lloyd reached for the com, ready to ball out the ship’s captain.
The Ivanova ripped apart in a blinding flash, instantly dissolving into a cloud of razor shards.
Stars. Slater. Her fighter had still been in close with the Ivanova. The shockwave from the blast slammed into Lloyd’s hound, the impact ripping the controls from his numbed hands.
No. She had to be alive. He brought the hound around and flicked through scanner feeds, looking for the fighter. Heat and EM washout from the blast blinded the scanners. Damn-it, he had to find her.
Wait, there it was. The Hound’s ident beacon. The heads-up tag flickered, shifting position. Interference or damage, but at least it was still broadcasting.
He moved in closer, focussing on the scanner feeds. The washout was taking an age to clear. He couldn’t see a damn thing.
Movement. Lloyd squinted through the cupola. He could just pick out the outline of the Hound. Battered broken. As he got closer, more details became apparent. The front end had taken the brunt of the blast, but the cockpit looked whole.
He pounded the com open. “Slater, Slater!”
Her response was garbled with static. “I’m here, but the hound’s dead.”
He flicked to an open channel. “I need rescue units out here.”
“Lorca actual. I can’t send units until we’ve secured the area.”
Damn-it. “Liberty?”
“Scrambling SAR units. Ten minutes out.”
Oh, for crying... Why was it taking them so long? Slater was on emergency batteries, bleeding atmosphere. She didn’t have ten minutes.
The com cracked and another voice came on, one Lloyd didn’t recognise.
“This is Captain Dannage on the Hope’s Folly. We can try to pick up your pilot.”
He glanced through the ship registry. The Franklin class?
“Are you sure? You’ve done this before?” Stars, it didn’t matter. If there was a chance to save Slater.
“Sort of,” Dannage replied, and then to one of his crew. “Luc, get down to the hold.”
The Folly moved toward the wreckage of Slater’s hound. Lloyd slipped in alongside them, keeping between the arrowhead-shaped cargo ship and the Lorca, protecting them. “Lorca, this is a rescue operation. Hold fire.”
The system flashed up warnings as the picket ships’ targeting scanners pinged them.
“I say again, hold fire or I will bloody well take you with me!”
Dannage’s voice cracked over the com, “Going to need some room here. Pull out to two-hundred meters.”
Lloyd complied. Half his attention on the threat detectors. The Folly’s ventral cargo doors opened as the cargo ship positioned itself above the hound.
Dannage came back on the com. “Eject now. You’ll go straight up into the hold.”
“I can’t.” Slater's voice was a hoarse whisper. “System’s shot.”
Lloyd’s throat constricted. She was in a bad way. They had to get her out.
“Right,” Dannage said. “Can you blow the cupola bolts?”
Lloyd gasped. “But that will blow her out into space.”
“And right into the Folly’s hold. Luc, ready?”
“There has to be another way?”
Slater coughed. “Not in the time we’ve got. Captain Dannage, you’ve done this before?”
Dannage laughed. “Actually, yeah. A couple of times. Time for a short spacewalk.”
The Folly dipped lower, trying to get as close as possible to the hound.
Dannage said, “Go.”
The hound’s cupola blew into two parts and Slater shot out into space surrounded by a cloud of flash-frozen atmosphere. A second later she was through the Folly’s already closing cargo doors.
Lloyd let out a breath, his white-knuckled grip on the controls relaxing. She was safe. If she’d died, and on his orders. Stars. Lloyd couldn’t think about it.
“Captain Dannage, fall in with me and we’ll get you to Liberty station.” Lloyd thumbed to the military channel. “Lorca, I’m escorting the Hope’s Folly back to Liberty Station to offload Commander Slater.” It’s wasn’t a request.
Lloyd started off through the SDF picket, the Folly following in his wake. Just let the bloody SDF try to stop him. Lloyd wanted to get his hands on the muppet scout captain who’d shot the Ivanova.
The Lorca replied, wide open. “All units, stand down. I’m so sorry about your pilot. Captain Keean out.”
The heads-up flickered as the Lorca’s weapons shifted to standby. Other picket ships following suit.
Images of Slater shooting out of her destroyed hound flashed through his mind. He really hoped she was alright. He didn’t know what he’d do if she died on his account.
Another pair of Hounds flew past them, heading for the Systems’ Defence Force picket and the remaining cargo ships. Another danc
e partner for Keean. The now unneeded Search and Rescue shuttle slipped through the orange of the static field into Liberty Station’s docking bay. He and the Folly were heading to the next bay along – the main flight deck.
The com cracked and Slater’s voice filtered through the cupola speakers. “Lloyd?”
Lloyd slumped in the flight chair, the gel shifting around him. Slater was okay. “Here. You good?”
“Still here, sir.” She coughed. Her voice sounded hoarse and rough. “Thanks to Captain Dannage and Luc here. The pressure suit and helmet protected me from the worst of it.”
“Good. And thank you so much Captain.” He didn’t want to think about what would have happened otherwise.
“No worries,” Dannage replied.
Lloyd sent the docking instructions over the Folly and started his Hound toward the welcoming glow of the flight deck.
Slater was alive and safe. The words kept running through his mind as though it were all a mirage and any moment it might not be true. She might still be…
The image of the hound flashed through his mind’s eye, its front end shredded, clouds of frozen atmosphere bleeding from rents along its flanks.
What in all the hells had that tanker been thinking. If any of the crew had survived, he’d have been happy to kick their asses until answers were forthcoming. But the SDF had put pay to that.
Was this some sort of double play? Maybe the ship was an SDF plant, the attack a ruse to show Nowhere the value of keeping an SDF garrison. Or even an excuse to raise hostilities.
Surely not. This wasn’t one of his paperbacks, and he was no detective. But still. Why had they rabbited at the picket ships?
He refocused on the controls and brought the hound through the orange flickering of the static field and down onto her landing gear with a sigh of hydraulics. Beside him the blunt arrowhead of the Folly settled onto her own struts.
Eager to see Slater – he still couldn’t quite believe it, not until he saw her himself – he hurried through the post-flight and popped the cupola before climbing out into the bustle of the flight deck.
The Folly’s loading ramp was down – Lloyd didn’t remember ramps being standard on the old Franklins. The thought fled his mind along with all others as three figures started down the ramp. Two men, one taller with an unruly mop of dark curls and a long coat worn at the cuffs and elbows, the other think-set with the shoulders of a line-backer his fair hair short but not military so. And between them, leaning heavily against the blond, Slater.
