Vindication

by Ken Wolfson

  "Not at all. I can wire-guide out past ten-kay klicks, but target lock is more efficient."

  "Torpedo firing solution on Righteous, full nuclear," Adrian said. He drew out his key.

  "Yes, sir," Cage said, and withdrew his own. “We’ve only got twenty warheads left.”

  "That should be enough in the target’s current condition. Fight command, carrier blitz now," Adrian said. He inserted his key. The Knights launched. “All fighter-bombers, reverse thrust at full tilt. Fire as you bear."

  Cross and her Jotunns pivoted about and unleashed their torpedoes across the narrow space between the carriers. Vindication would've lost structural integrity and shattered from explosive decompression. Righteous, with her superior structure, crumbled to a hulk, but held together. She drifted off, trailing a plume of wreckage laced with vented atmosphere. Adrian and Cage inserted their keys to prepare the final blow.

  "Shipboard torpedo tubes vented, 20 nukes and 40 conventional," Lieutenant Chuvan said.

  "Righteous has hailed us. She's broadcasting the white flag protocol," Zoey said.

  "Answer."

  "Adrian." Tarly gagged on blood. Screaming pierced the background noise. "My crew and myself, we had a bargain. I beg of you to uphold it and spare their lives."

  Adrian opened his comp and stared at the picture. Alyssa smiling at the camera, arms around him. Not a care in the world about her dad’s crimes or their confused future. He put the microphone to his lips.

  “Justice comes for us all." He turned his key, as did Cage.

  Sixty atlatls winged across and impacted Righteous amidships, directly over her primary bridge. Visual flared white and cut out. The impact was too much for her tortured structure to handle. She split at frame 15, 30 million tons snapped like a twig. A few escape pods and shuttles launched from auxiliary bays. They were splattered by quick autocannon bursts.

  "Done," Adrian said. "Now we leave."

  He vomited across the console and his lap. Veris came running with a syringe.

  #

  Chapter Fifty: Endurance

  The bridge still buzzed when Amelie returned. Adrian was in the hospital, sleeping under intensive supervision. His staff had doubled their efforts to make up for his absence.

  Alenkot was gone from his post, so mercifully she didn't get an introduction as she slipped in. She didn't need the reminder that she'd bailed out on an action; no matter her reason it didn't sit right from her. Winchester stood at the XO's chair. Ravin had come all the way up from engineering to take the damage control station. Amelie sat down at the edge of TACNET. "Acting XO, situation report?" she said.

  Winchester looked up from her work, and smiled with wholehearted joy. "Oh, good to have you back, ma'am. DC has gotten the situation under control. All hull breaches are plugged, fires are out, and Ravin jury-rigged a solution with life support. We're pushing the oxygen garden for all its worth. Casualties are about 1500, 2000 wounded not including the civilian evacuees. How're you doing?"

  "I'll live," she said, without enthusiasm. "What happened to Elliot? He's the only person on this ship who likes 24-hour shifts"

  "His arm got re-broken bad during a high-g maneuver. Doctor Veris has him under. Rumor is he might be amputating." Amelie winced; high gravity combat could twist limbs up and pulverize bone like a kid playing with clay models.

  "He and Adrian will make fine company in sickbay, devising new ways to break my ship," Ravin muttered.

  "What's the problem? They keep you employed long-term," Winchester replied with a smirk. Ravin pretended to grumble, but Amelie caught that half-grin.

  "When does your shift end?" Amelie said.

  "Ended two hours ago. Third-watch's chief is KIA, so I'm doubling."

  Amelie stood again, and found purpose.

  "Take a nap. I'll take third watch," she said. Winchester's eyes widened with delight, but she put a hold on it.

  "Ma'am, are you sure you're ready?"

  "Yes, I am. You've done better than I could, Major. You've earned your rest." Winchester stood back and allowed her access to the console.

  "I am relieved," she said.

  "You are relieved."

  Winchester departed. Amelie spun up her own diagnostics and double checked all the repair work. For redundancy's sake. "You're stuck with me, Ravin," she said.

  "Oh, the horror."

  A memo arrived. The refugees needed housing, and Johnathan was demanding a luxury suite. She rolled her eyes at the Lord Governor's request, and found empty barracks space for the civvies. She made sure hot meals were prepped for her people. Her survivors.

  She checked the standing duty orders next. Make Vindication ready for FTL jump, eta 5:00. The armada was regrouping in Varium, Volantis’ sister world. The sister world that hadn’t sent help despite centuries of allegiance. Anger flared, there’d be a reckoning on that once they arrived.

  Think productively. Everyone left of importance would be at Varium, preparing a last stand. And she had all the credits at her fingertips. This would be their chance to make a change, get Adrian and that ass of a Lord Governor some political breathing room.

  She input the destination system for helm to do their calculations. As she did that, curiosity seized her to know what had gone down in that last fight. She reviewed the combat logs.

  Her breath caught in her throat when she came to the end. Adrian had fired on a helpless carrier after they'd essentially surrendered. Maybe she would have done the same after Volantis, but that wasn’t the point. The rules of war were rigid; they didn't bend for personal inflection. Adrian had broken his word, committed treachery and murder, and if word of his actions every got back to fleet command then the brass would finally have an excuse to drum his ass out of the fleet entirely, and the war be damned.

  Should she be the one to notify? Legally, it was her mandate.

  She stopped herself. Adrian after everything he'd been through, she couldn't throw him to the wolves. And she had an estimated 100 million of her people homeless, trailing after the fleet. Adrian had saved them. They needed her to step up and lead them. Ila the Bought and all her friends would be scrabbling over the pity points and power they could get. Amelie would surpass them. And to do that, she needed Adrian and Johnathan.

  She saved a single copy of the combat log to her personal computer, then edited the ships’ so that Righteous fired first. A spiteful first shot at the victorious combatant. That was justification enough to save Adrian's career.

  Her shift as OIC ended in 10 hours. Adrian would be off the tranqs and waking up. She'd go snuggle with him then. In the meantime, Vinny needed healing.

  #

  Chapter Fifty-One: Triumvirate

  Junes 16

  77th Day of the War

  Johnathan was waiting in the lounge when Adrian hobbled in on crutches. The Lord Governor shivered like a small boy who'd seen the Wendago come in his dreams.

  "You rang." Adrian flopped on the chair opposite, hard. Then he hauled his leg up so it could lay flat on the coffee table. Veris had been very specific on his instructions.

  "I did. I have a question for you," Johnathan said. Adrian groaned, expecting some strategic inquiry that'd add to his raging migraine. He was waiting until the dying had been treated before grabbing pain pills from the overcrowded hospital.

  "Sound off. I've got PT after this," he finally said. “And I need a drink.”

  "This isn't the question, but how bad is the leg?" Genuine concern showed on Johnathan's fat face.

  "Tarly cut my ass with a relic sword, gifted to her by Emoche Hulle." He patted the brace, and felt nothing beneath. "It killed most of the nerve endings, and plasma welded my flesh, muscle, and bone into one nasty mass. PT is a prayer. It might be total loss, amputation and all. Either way we need to find someone else to fight honor duels."

  "We live another day at least, for what it's worth," Johnathan said. He sighed, and deflated further. "That leads me back to my question."

  "I need a dri
nk. Shoot."

  "What are you?"

  Adrian gasped in pain, then adjusted his slipped composure. The constant throbbing pain, combined with his craving alcohol was jabbing weak points in his resolve. He could taste the vodka in his mouth.

  "What?"

  "I thought you a simple soldier, a father who did his duty and nothing more. In the past two days you’ve committed one act of heroism and one war crime, and it doesn’t effect What are you?" Johnathan finished at a whisper.

  "Tarly had to die." Adrian massaged his leg, and felt nothing. "She told me she was the one who'd found that relic dread, and that she had a library of pre-dark age books. And if she'd lived, she would have just singled my command out again. It was duty to my crew."

  "And the rest of her ship, what crime did they commit? You could have killed her during the duel."

  "They would have just rejoined the war. Denial of assets." And they deserved to die, he silently added. Every blue at Volantis was going to die screaming.

  "I understand." Johnathan closed his eyes as the scales of justice balanced in his mind. "There are no truly honorable paths left, but what the hell. Commander, you're not familiar with the game, but I will teach you. With your pragmatic mind you'll be decent enough to survive it. Maybe we can even get on top."

  "This is a two-way street," Adrian said. He seized on the trust he'd won. "You think like a politician, that everything is a game. That when this is over the status quo will continue and we'll all have a golden parachute in the private sector. Watch the fires of Volantis in the observatory; the games are over. Either we're coming home, or they are. Teach me politics, and I'll teach you to be a soldier. With your conviction, I think you'll do well."

  Johnathan rose on his haunches to protest, then nodded acceptance and offered his hand.

  "Deal." They shook.

  "You'll need connections, too," Amelie said.

  Adrian spun around, and both knees flared. She stood in the doorway bearing a six-pack of Betelgeuse Root Beer and a cold thin smile. How long had she hovered there? Probably the entire exchange. She approached without request and slapped the beer on the table, then produced one for each of them. "You are going to need friends in high places, and money, and nobility. It's good seeing you two be friends, but you suck at those things. That's why we're a triumvirate, is it not?"

  "It is," Adrian said. The men opened their beers and stood. Johnathan took the lead, probably from experience.

  "A toast, to survival." He raised his beer. None of them smiled.

  "To survival." They clanked glasses. A crack opened in Adrian's.

  #

  Epilogue

  Junes 20

  81st Day of the War

  IPX-1102 was one of the old Imperial outposts sprinkled through the expanse to maintain their iron grip. The Imperials was long gone but the civilians remained, living on ice harvesting and selling moonshine to visitors. To Adrian, it was 2500 meters of friendly station

  "What type of base would the shadows put a base out here?" he said into his radio. The dropship containing himself and a squad raced towards the sprawling junk heap cowering in Vindication’s shadow. Alenkot and the troopers were wielding assault rifles loaded with armor-piercing slugs and grenade launchers. No pop-guns; if the locals stabbed him in the back he'd burn their station down.

  "Less a base, more a safehouse," Roverra said. Adrian read the message again.

  Colonel Meironara. I come to you with safe harbor and good tidings in a time of strife. Please board at once. Bring Commander Adrian Huxton; my tidings concern him. I understand trust has been eroded to a minimum, so bring whatever escort you desire.

  Adrian stepped out, to find Roverra had already landed, alone. "Right this way, Commander," he said with a sweeping gesture into the station.

  The entrance to the base was directly under the lone fusion reactor, a single door at the end of a commercial alley.

  "This it?" He looked about. A bare handful of dirty children watched the uncommonly presumptuous landing party from a corner. Their parents snatched them up and disappeared into the shadows.

  "Yes," Roverra said. He stepped forwards, and placed his wristcomp to the door.

  Seconds later, it opened, revealing a portly woman in a shadow's black and white. She was grey as Meironara.

  "Commander Adrian Huxton, I am Captain Marne Klepas, overseer of this installation. I am glad you accepted our invitation. Please follow me inside." Her voice was withered with age and cigars, judging by the stench on her breath.

  "Any blues waiting?" Adrian said.

  "You have my word that you will come to no hostility under my protection. And this is a listening outpost; your troopers could dismantle it with only their swords. Now please, come inside."

  Adrian placed a hand to the hilt of his replacement gladius, and followed her in. They were in a spherical lobby. Four more shadows stood around the perimeter. Adrian saw rapiers on their hips. "Vindication, I don't like this," he muttered into his earpiece.

  "Neither do I. Don't worry, if there's trouble we'll come for you," Amelie replied. Captain Klepas smiled to him.

  "I apologize I could not inform you of this development via flash drone. Its secrecy was code black, and of paramount importance to the Ministry and Systems.” She glanced over her shoulder. "They arrived four nights ago, and said you’d be coming, and they were to meet you."

  A four-armed tower of inhuman proportions emerged from the corridor behind her.

  Adrian’s jaw dropped. Meironara's cigar slipped from his mouth and splattered ash on the floor.

  It was a giant insect, arms ending in three-pronged claws and the ugliest mug Adrian had ever seen. The body was built with muscle and armored in hot pink chitinous plating. Atop that, six beady black eyes scanned the room while multiple mandibles gyrated with hyperactive compulsion. As if the natural platers weren’t enough, it wore glittering armor woven from silver threads.

  "Sweet mother of mercy," Alenkot said.

  The Kiiren lumbered so close to Adrian that he smelled the disinfectant on its breath. Its outer mandibles chirped rapid fire.

  Commander Adrian Huxton, I am Kirahko Godric of the War Mantis. That was their special forces. This wasn’t just the Kiiren, this was their black ops division.

  Two more Kiiren, these with green plating, emerged from the shadows. Each wore two curved swords long as Molitor’s greatsword.

  Adrian glared at the alien before responding. "You cut your losses, aren’t we a failed investment?”

  The alien made a harsh grating with its pincers, laughter. Did you believe our people would truly abandon yours in your darkest hour?

  "Oh I did." The Kiiren’s arrival didn’t compute. None of the information made sense.

  You were mistaken. We will not forget our alliance with Jacob Hallard. Even if the rest of the galaxy will.

  "Why me, then?" Adrian said.

  Our observers in Wild Space and Volantis saw your action. Our analysts have concluded that you are the best candidate. The alien held up 3 pincer prongs.

  "And what do you need me for? I hear that from a lot of people these days,” Adrian said. There was always a catch.

  We need you justify a full Kiiren intervention. Our government is conflicted over the Systems’ troubled past and our current economic struggles. The War Mantis took the initiative and launched this operation to convince them. We need to prove that the United Systems can still stand and fight as a coherent force, to convince our government to invest in a full military and economic intervention. You need to meet Emoche Hulle's armada in open combat, and win a decisive victory. And you and the Lord Governor need to eliminate the war profiteers in your regional administration.

  Sometimes life threw up a good deal. Adrian never missed those.

  The Kiiren offered a claw.

  To victory.

  He shook.

  "To victory."

  <<<>>>

  About the Author:

  Kenneth Wo
lfson started writing when he was in sixth grade. Diagnosed with aspergers in third grade, he found himself incredibly alone and directionless, and turned to writing for his purpose. Since then he's written at least an hour every day. He takes it as a point of pride that his writing ability and persona have improved a great deal since then.

  Ken's genre of choice is science fiction, with most of his works involving space ships and cybernetics in some way. He will gladly read anything he gets his hands on, with his favorite novel being Hyperion. In addition, he plays rugby and loves football.

  Ken began writing Vindication 3.5 years ago after dropping out of college. It is his first published work.