Vindication

by Ken Wolfson

  Vindication

  Ken Wolfson

  For all those who slipped through the cracks.

  Contents

  Part 1: Midnight on the Firing Line

  Chapter One: Homecoming

  Chapter Two: Commander and XO

  Chapter Three: VIP Retrieval

  Chapter Four: Tour the Admiralty

  Chapter Five: Countdown to Retirement

  Chapter Six: The Last Speech

  Chapter Seven: Undertow

  Chapter Eight: Conflux

  Chapter Nine: The New Inferno

  Part II: Adrian's Run

  Chapter Ten: No Easy Day

  Chapter Eleven: Conference

  Chapter Twelve: Zoey

  Chapter Thirteen: Rally Point

  Chapter Fourteen: Run and Gun

  Chapter Fifteen: Down Time

  Chapter Sixteen: Serpentia

  Chapter Seventeen: Parlay

  Chapter Eighteen: Survival

  Chapter Nineteen: We, Soldiers

  Chapter Twenty: Intel

  Chapter Twenty-One: Vervunder

  Chapter Twenty-Two: Chain of Command

  Chapter Twenty-Three: The Admiralty

  Chapter Twenty-Four: Date Night

  Chapter Twenty-Five: The Battle of Vervunder

  Chapter Twenty-Six Breaking Down

  Part III: Part 3: War For Volantis

  Chapter Twenty-Seven: Arrival

  Chapter Twenty-Eight: Long Way to the Top

  Chapter Twenty-Nine: Feast

  Chapter Thirty: Meet the Folks

  Chapter Thirty-one: Requiem

  Chapter Thirty-Two: What Lies Beneath

  Chapter Thirty-Three: Believe

  Chapter Thirty-Four: Warframe

  Chapter Thirty-Five: Worth Dying For

  Chapter Thirty-Six: War Council

  Chapter Thirty-Seven: On the Game

  Chapter Thirty-Eight: Countdown to War

  Chapter Thirty-Nine: Initial Engagement

  Chapter Forty: Assault

  Chapter Forty-One: Thunderhead

  Chapter Forty-Two: Descent

  Chapter Forty-Three: Annihilation

  Chapter Forty-Four: Skies of Volantis

  Part IV: Dust to Dust

  Chapter Forty-Five: Into the Inferno

  Chapter Forty-Six: Amelie

  Chapter Forty-Seven: The Duel

  Chapter Forty-Eight: Negotiations

  Chapter Forty-Nine: Once and For All

  Chapter Fifty: Endurance

  Chapter Fifty-One: Triumvirate

  Epilogue

  Part 1: Midnight on the Firing Line

  Chapter One: Homecoming

  Commander Adrian Huxton's arthritic knees ached beneath him, but they were one of the easier tests he'd endured. His combat boots thumped on the corrugated deck as he walked to Vindication’s bridge for the final time in his career. His supercarrier thumped back with the arthritic rumbling of her decrepit fusion reactors. Her great main corridor was packed with crew scrambling in their tattered black uniforms. Every man and woman's assignments must be completed when they docked at anchorage. Many wore bandages and burns, but none were bent by defeat.

  As he trekked, Adrian got plenty of "thank you, sirs," and weary smiles from his crew. He passed a floor-to-ceiling gash cut diagonally through Vindication's spine by repeated capitol-grade railgun strikes. There'd been so much damage that the engineers had only stitched this up with collision mats and moved on to more critical problems.

  Vindication had departed from the Tollyon System for a 2-year deployment, carrying 17,000 souls within the armored slabs of her hull. She was returning 270 Systems standard days later with 12,157 still breathing. Adrian had caused oceans of death during his career, and his only reaction to this count had been to grit his teeth. He understood the nature of military duty, and so did his crew. They were all expendable.

  Before the last great battle, the simulations had calculated defeat to be inevitable, and the frontier world of Vykhor with its 10 million souls doomed. Vindication would become another ghost wreck drifting forever, sputtering out a distress signal whenever solar radiation hit her batteries right.

  Adrian had won anyways. Nothing new, he thought with a grim smile; doing the impossible.

  "Hello, Commander," someone said, and grabbed his shoulder in a breach of discipline protocol. Adrian twisted to deliver a tongue lashing and came face to face with a colonel, her brow level with his. The one human onboard who could grab his shoulder. She was snow-pale and held her flaming red hair up in its usual bun. Like him, she wore the officer’s rugged black trenchcoat trimmed with crimson. Three crimson bars sat on her epaulets while Adrian wore four.

  "XO," he said, and couldn't fully hide his smile. Colonel Amelie Nessella, grinned back, silver eyeliner glittering. She wore a sash of the same silver shade. Those of noble families wore sashes that displayed her noble heritage and house colors. She was Lady Colonel Amelie of House Nessella, heir apparent. "Don't you have a mountain of paperwork to climb?"

  "The mountain has been summited and the banner raised," she said, with typical noble confidence. "How're you holding up, sir?"

  "I'll survive to shore leave," Adrian said, and scratched the graying beard that had been building up while he was too busy to shave. "Do you have anything for me to sign?"

  "I've got a transfer of wounded form so we can get them to a proper hospital." She unfolded a computer from her wrist, woven into a silver-laced wristband.

  “Got it.” Adrian signed with a finger.

  "Thank you." A column of troopers in black armor parted before them, some saluting as they marched. "Ready to smell some fresh planetside air and enjoy real food?" she said with an eager smile This far into their tour, they were relying on deep-frozen meals and the occasional hydroponics supplements.

  "Yes," Adrian lied. The titanium deck of a spaceship would always be his home. Amelie was ever-perceptive, and her smile faded.

  "Let's talk about it after we're done on the bridge."

  "Depends on what time we get done," Adrian said. He nodded, the most he could do under professional circumstances.

  "Commander, a moment?" A squat, olive-skinned woman in a gray pilot's flight suit stepped into his path. A white scar bisected her face from right ear to chin. Like all fighter pilots, she'd shaved her head for ease of movement in high gravitational maneuvers; unlike most, she'd forsaken hair entirely and tattooed a spiral on her bare scalp. On her jacket was emblazoned the insignia of Vindication's fighter group: a knight in crimson armor riding a torpedo into battle.

  "Jamie, what're you doing this far from the hangar decks?" Adrian said. Major Jamie Berics, callsign 'Cross,' wasn't just a pilot, but the Commander-Space Group for the entire 1200-attack craft wing. Her flight uniform bore a Major's two red bars, and the additional crimson double-wings for the CSG.

  "I've taken this pilgrimage to speak with you, sir," she said with a smirk.

  "XO, I'll meet you on the bridge," Adrian said. Then, to Jamie; "What's the concern?"

  "I've got a form for you, to certify the transfer of our remaining nukes to the fleet arsenal." She held out her comp, which was sewn into a fleet issue wristband.

  "Done," Adrian said, and signed with his finger. "Jamie, did you hear back on your transfer app?"

  "I got it on flash drone an hour ago," she said. A smile spread across her face. "I've been accepted as the new head flight instructor at Tollyon Greenguard Academy and am expected as soon as Vindication musters out."

  "Congratulations. We need our best teaching the next generation of fighter jockeys," Adrian said. He'd signed off on her transfer request, then called in favors and gotten several influential friends in the fleet and nobility to sign off. By shoving the
best talent through the web of bureaucracy and politics into position of importance, he did his duty to the Systems Armada in more ways than simply killing hostiles.

  "Thank you, sir," Jamie said. Adrian turned to leave. "Oh, and—Commander?"

  Adrian stopped short. "Yes?"

  "I bear a memo from the hangar bays. If you ever encounter some Knights in a bar, drinks are on us," she said. Free drinks were a universal language. Gratitude rushed up from Adrian's chest.

  "I'll hold you to that," he said.

  Vindication was built like a skyscraper laid on her side, with hangar bays slung to her flanks as skeletal ribs. The bridge was set at the very center, under the thickest armor. It was guarded by a meter-thick tungstanium and ceramite portal, the approach was guarded by a fireteam. They wielded shotguns and gladius swords. Firing armor-piercing bullets in an entirely artificial environment was as lethal to the shooter as his target. Shotguns and subsonic splatter bullets wouldn’t puncture subsystems or ricochet, but were useless against even the most basic civilian armor. So swords came into play. Adrian's own gladius was a friendly weight on his hip.

  The squad's commanding sergeant approached Adrian. "Identification, please," she rumbled. Command authority was situational, depending on the rank and circumstances of the personnel in question. A trooper on Bridge Security held the second-highest priority in the fleet, above any officer or noble entering the bridge, and solely behind a bomb technician at a dead run.

  Adrian produced his physical ID card from his wallet and held it up for first the scanner and then the mark I eyeball exam. He was glad his crew weren't letting up security for anyone, even their Commander of Ship. Discipline and vigilance were the core of any good crew.

  "You may proceed, sir," the Sergeant said. "Oh, and it's been an honor to serve you, from all the brigade."

  "Thank you, Sergeant Alenkot" Adrian said. The door slid open with a screech of malfunctioning magnetic hinges.

  "I told you he remembered everyone's names," another trooper whispered.

  The bridge was a hexagon of charred metal and wounded electronics, a brain with a concussion. At its very center hung the banner of the United Systems: a yellow sun rising over a blue ocean. Adrian afforded it a moment of reverence. The sun was supposedly Sol, and the ocean the mythical Earth. Archaeologists had scoured the countless pre-dark age graveyards without uncovering evidence of humanity's supposed homeworld. Not a map or even directions. Yet, the Founder, Jacob Hallard claimed to have visited there. Adrian believed it.

  Beside him stood a jar, containing Tollyon's reddish soil, colored by the land coral it had instead of green plant life. A jar of dirt from home. Always carry home so home could find you. Some private captains refused to take passengers without dirt from home on their boots, because in the infinite void there was plenty of space to get lost in.

  "Commander on deck!" Amelie announced. As one, the officers stood and pressed their fists to their chests. Adrian’s skin chilled at the excess formality..

  "Is this necessary?" he said. He should have anticipated Amelie doing a little stunt like this. She liked her ceremony. It compensated for him not caring about any presentation beyond duty efficiency. That was a good XO: being a competent foil to their CO.

  "Since it's your final day in command, it's very necessary," Amelie said. She snapped into salute. "C'mon now, we can't release until you return."

  Adrian muttered profanity under his breath as he returned the salute. "At ease," he said. His officers returned to their seats. The bridge buzzed with the speed and efficiency of a top-quality staff. "Helm, sitrep?"

  "We're 500,000 klicks out from the anchorage. ETA twenty minutes," Captain Horace Grissom said through his black lumberjack beard. It was partitioned by six silver rings, forged from the hull plates of warships Vindication had destroyed. Adrian had written those rings into uniform code as 'cultural allowance,' because they were a hell of a morale-raiser to the enlisted.

  "Copy, how's she running?" Grissom had reversed the supercarrier so her mammoth plasma drives faced the anchorage in her decelaration burn

  "Plasma drive is heating 200 centigrade above normal, but still on the edge of safe limits. All thrusters are functioning. She's lumbering like a leviathan, sir," Grissom said with a chortle. "When they make her into a museum, she's going to keep her engines, right?"

  "My, how the rumor mill flies," Adrian muttered. His XO smirked knowingly. "That's for the bureaucrats to decide, unfortunately. Us soldiers just have to look pretty for the cameras and collect our paychecks."

  "Yes, sir," Grissom said. "No fresh dents, don't you worry."

  Adrian slipped into his seat and sighed with relief. Artificial gravity was set to .5g for a perfect balance of crew health and ease of maneuvering the heavy cargo. His knees still degenerated. He pushed the pain out of his mind and focused on the present.

  TACNET was a mass of blue signatures orbiting a spherical outline that dwarfed the 30-million-ton supercarrier. Tollyon was the only major stop for trade going into the Systems and heading the other way out, to Vykhor and other worlds bordering Wild Space. Adrian knew all too well that the money flowed with the shipping, and so did the job-starved citizens.

  "XO, status report?" Adrian said.

  "All internal radiation leaks have been sealed, and we're dirty externally, but the crew won't be cooking their bones. Aside from that, all good. The old girl's hanging on," Amelie said. Adrian patted the structural beam beside his desk. In times of duress he imagined that his baby talked back. She groaned in defiance.

  "Of course, she is," he said.

  A half-dozen civilian ships emerged from the blue mass of the anchorage and raced towards Vindication. Adrian and any experienced officer knew what they were before their transponders registered.

  "High acceleration, power emissions too low to be FTL-capable, and an incredible amount of extranet traffic per ship. We appear to be besieged by news anchorcraft," second officer Major Elliot Cage said. Like all low-gravity babies, lack of good old planetary compression had stretched him so tall his bald dome grazed the ceiling monitors. His bones had needed titanium reinforcement to withstand standard United Systems gravity.

  "Confirmed," an ensign said, reading the transponders. The ships closed to within 300 kilometers. The Combat Space patrol intercepted each vessel with one Furie. They withdrew to stable orbit at 500 kilometers.

  "Damn civvies would die for a good photo," Adrian muttered. Someone snickered.

  "There are six ships requesting permission to close to one-zero-zero klicks for filming," comms chief Captain John Sare said.

  "The reporters may remain at their current range. Press passes don't override physics if there's a collision," Adrian said.

  "Yes, sir," Sare said.

  "Major, make sure to impress upon them the fact that if they close, the Knights may go weapons free and engage," Adrian added. Snickers rang through the bridge.

  "Yes, sir!" Cage said. The civvies clustered towards Vindication's stern. The enemy’s final charge had punched through every layer of Vindication's defenses and planted nukes on bare hull. She'd screeched as two million tons were vaporized off her hull. "They're focusing the wrecked cooling tower," the Major noted.

  "That'll be the money shot," Adrian said.

  Someone put a nose camera feed on the main screen. The Anchorage sprawled from horizon to horizon mismatched glory: a city, in 3 dimensions from shining outer levels to the slums. Below it sprawled Tollyon-IV itself, a mottled ball of blue and red with large ice caps. The puddle jump Veracorp liners were running dailies between Anchorage and planet. Meanwhile, Lord Verger Shipping Freighters were rolling in and out, carrying bulk supplies to the frontier and exotic materials the other way. House Noelle cruise liners lugged passengers on interstellar flights. The daily food convoy was running from the planet below on drone freighters.

  "ANCON is hailing us," Sare declared. That was the joint Armada/House Venko military branch in charge of traffic contro
l and anchorage defense.

  "Patch them through," Adrian said.

  "Vindication, Control, we have tugs en route, cut your drives and await hookup," a woman said. Her voice was curt and professional, as any of the House Venko military controllers were.

  "Control, Vindication, we copy, cutting drives," Adrian said.

  Grissom killed the throttle and her great plasma drives fell silent.. Vindication drifted on inertia with micro-corrections by her maneuvering thrusters.

  "Thank you, Vindication. We appreciate you not cooking us." Plasma drives ejected a tongue of flame hundreds of kilometers long. Soft targets like civilian anchorages melted.

  "Control, Vindication, our reactor output might still accomplish that, be advised," Adrian said.

  "Oh, we see your glowing tail. HAZMAT teams, sit tight." Three tugs approached to 50km of the supercarrier and launched cables. Then they turned up their chemical rockets and dragged her into port.

  "Control, what kind of reception are we walking into?" Adrian said. Someone stifled giggles on the other end.

  "Vindication, looks like paparazzi and a lot of families coming out to see you home. Seems your circus tricks impressed a few civvies," Control answered. Now they weren’t stifling their laughter. Only tricks?

  "Acknowledged, Control, they haven't seen a military unit since we parted tether," he said. The click of the receiver being slammed down ricocheted about the bridge.